Quid Pro Quo
by simplytrop
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a notorious defense attorney who takes any case that pays well. Alfred F. Jones is an up-and-coming prosecutor for the state who's been getting in the way of too many of his cases and, after a drunken night, Arthur's private life too.
1. Chapter 1

**Quid Pro Quo**

**Note:** I wanted to write something dirty (well, dirtier than everything else I have going right now). This is the whole reason for this fic. Well, that and suits. Professional business suits are ridiculously appealing.

* * *

><p>"The jury's verdict – guilty," the judge announced.<p>

Immediately, the other side of the courtroom burst into happy shouts of congratulations and Arthur Kirkland narrowed his eyes at one Alfred F. Jones who was being given a very enthusiastic hug by his client for winning the trial.

Behind him, Arthur's own client, the young starlet Rebecca Lukeman, was being handcuffed and taken away to the protests of her parents.

"We thought you were supposed to be the best money could hire," Mrs. Lukeman said, glaring at Arthur. Arthur wondered vaguely if her perfectly made-up and too botoxed face was meant to be beautiful when it mostly looked the very definition of the "plastic" in plastic surgery. "We should have gone with Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt."

That was just insult on top of injury, and Arthur had had a long enough day in court on top of the three days the entire case had taken battling against Alfred F. Jones, which was still on top of the stress of losing the court case and all the money Arthur had just lost, and it wasn't like the Lukemans were ever going to hire him again which was a client lost too, so he felt his temper justifiably frayed that Arthur couldn't quite help snapping at her. "Well I'm sorry that your daughter was too stupid to realize three underage DUIs are going to result in real consequences sooner or later no matter what money can get you. I assure you, Bonnefoy couldn't have gotten you a better sentence for vehicular manslaughter."

Mrs. Lukeman's mouth opened and shut, gaping like a fish for a moment before she composed herself enough to respond. "Well I never!" Mrs. Lukeman grabbed her husband's arm and tugged him out of the courtroom, shouting about an appeal.

Arthur thought about telling her it was impossible for her daughter to appeal now, but if Mrs. Lukeman went to Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt, they'd be the ones who had to explain how the court system worked to her.

Arthur wasn't usually this rude to his clients, but he'd lost and was in a foul mood for having to deal with an idiot teenager who had, despite repeated warnings with her past convictions, still thought she could get off for drunk driving and then killing an innocent passer-by. Of course, Arthur's job was to get these people off with just a mild slap on the wrist if complete innocence wasn't possible, regardless of how much he hated most of his clients. These were the cases that paid well and were highly broadcasted. It was how Arthur had become one of the most famous defense attorneys on the East Coast of the United States. Certainly one of the best-known lawyers in New York despite his British accent and dual citizenship. Of course if Arthur had a choice, he wouldn't be in the United States at all but still practicing law back in the U.K.

The point was that Arthur hadn't gotten to the top without a lot of hard work and ruthlessness. He was supposed to win all of his cases, and he had for three years. Right until Alfred F. Jones appeared on the scene a few months ago.

This was not good. In fact, this was absolutely awful. It was the third time in two months that Arthur had come up against Alfred F. Jones, and this was the third time he'd lost. Arthur hadn't lost a case for three years now and he'd lost three in just two months to this unknown Alfred F. Jones who Arthur had never even heard of until he lost that first time. Arthur Kirkland didn't lose.

He took a deep breath as he looked down at his now useless notes and case files. And the Lukemans had been good clients too – very rich, and very corrupt which was always a good combination because the harder they were to defend, the more they paid for Arthur to defend them. He exhaled and began to put his things away. The only thing that made this slightly better was that Rebecca Lukeman had been an idiot to begin with and killing that man with her drunk driving would be very difficult for anyone to get her off of vehicular manslaughter. It didn't make Arthur's failure feel much better though.

"Hey! Hey, Kirkland!"

Arthur turned to see the object of his distaste waving at him in the form of a young man in his mid-twenties and a too-bright smile.

"Jones," Arthur said politely. Because while he'd like nothing more than to tell Alfred F. Jones exactly what he thought of his lawyering and exactly what he'd just cost Arthur, he had a gentlemanly image to keep up.

Alfred extended his hand, and Arthur suppressed a grimace before taking it and shaking.

"Good battle, huh?" Alfred said cheerfully and pumped his hand up and down.

Each time Arthur had met Alfred, he was like this. Although he basically gave off the standard business look – glasses and slicked back hair, suit and tie, and all – Alfred was also extremely unkempt on second glance. His tie was always crooked, there tended to be a coffee stain on his sleeve more often than not, or the crumbs of evidence of his last meal on his collar, and he always had that piece of hair that stuck up on his head so persistently that Arthur itched to grab it and perhaps rip it out altogether because the gel clearly wasn't working.

While Arthur gave off a very professional image and the more conservative judges tended to like him, Alfred F. Jones had the annoying sort of boyishness about him that charmed judges, juries, and even the audiences watching them. While he probably couldn't hold up to a more mature and critical judge, if he could win over whole juries, the judge hardly mattered. And it certainly didn't hurt that Alfred was classically attractive in the all American sort of way. He was clearly athletic with a healthy, golden tan, and features that promised to chisel out in a couple of years. In other words, he was effortlessly achieving what Arthur had always slaved for too quickly and too easily and Arthur may have possibly resented him for it a bit, though it wasn't the biggest reason Alfred was an eyesore to him.

"It's not a good battle if I didn't win," Arthur answered, extracting his hand. "Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Oh come on, it was pretty good," Alfred said, completely ignoring or possibly not noticing at all that Arthur clearly wasn't in the mood to talk. Especially not to him. Instead, Alfred hopped up on the desk and sat talking to Arthur as he put away his papers. "You know, you're probably the hardest competition I've had. You actually managed to put up a fight for someone who is obviously guilty," he said.

Arthur snapped up to glare at him. "You can't immediately assume someone's guilty, you idiot," he said.

"Except when they obviously are," Alfred said, much too casually. "And Rebecca Lukeman definitely was. I mean, we had five witnesses to see the car crash into Jerry Martin, and that's on top of all the witnesses who actually saw her drinking at that party _and_ climbing into the car."

Arthur really did not need Alfred reminding him about all the problems with this case.

"And she had three previous DUIs too. You know we were curious to see who was going to take this case for the Lukemans at all," Alfred continued.

"I—"

"Thank you again, Alfred." Arthur was interrupted by Jerry Martin's tearful widow who gave Alfred another hug that he happily accepted. In contrast, she shot a venomous glare at Arthur after letting Alfred go, and then left the courtroom.

Arthur exhaled and turned back to cleaning up his things. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to go to the nearest bar and get roaringly drunk which he completely intended to do immediately upon leaving the courtroom. He _hated_ losing. That's why he made sure to never ever lose.

"Don't tell me you actually wanted Rebecca Lukeman to win," Alfred said. "Sarah lost her husband to drunken driving."

Arthur glared at him. "I couldn't care less about your client. It's not my job to be sympathetic. It's my job to win the case, and as I didn't do that, you can be assured the Lukemans will never come back to my firm."

"You should come work for the State's Attorney too," Alfred said, utterly oblivious to Arthur's annoyance.

"Look, Mr. Jones—"

"You can call me Alfred," Alfred said.

"Whatever," Arthur snapped. "We are not friends. We aren't even really acquaintances, so if you were here to rub in your victory, you've already done it. Now if you'll excuse me," Arthur said, clipped, and then grabbed his briefcase and stalked out of the courtroom.

His only satisfaction was the slightly stunned expression on Alfred's face as he left.

* * *

><p><strong>Here were the facts:<strong>

Arthur Kirkland was 29 years old, single, bisexual, and British.

He'd gone to King's College London for his law degree and immediately gone into practicing at the Kirkland law firm. His older brothers had all been working at the firm for years before Arthur graduated, though, so it was always difficult with his brothers as the senior partners and Arthur as the young associate. He'd never gotten along with his brothers, but now that he worked under them, it was even worse than before, having to take orders from them and listen to them criticize his methods and point out any mistake he made. Arthur was the youngest brother and what everyone called idealistic and naïve. Back then, he'd only taken cases he believed in, but he still had the highest success rate out of all four brothers which hadn't helped the sibling rivalry.

He'd managed to hold out for two years, finally making it as a third year associate when a very media-popular, high-profile case was dropped in his lap. Although Arthur had believed the man – a polygamist and murderer was completely guilty of all charges and possibly more – his brothers had pressured him into taking the case. The huge Henry VIII case as it was called, had been broadcasted internationally so the entire world had seen when Arthur had lost. His brothers probably would have kept him on despite that, but Arthur's own pride couldn't take it and he'd resigned from the Kirkland firm himself.

And in the end, Arthur took his law degree to the United States and started as a poor, solo lawyer in New York with a bad reputation thanks to that disastrous case. But Arthur was a fighter if nothing else, and it had taken him three years, but he had finally managed to claw his way to the top again.

And this was the biggest reason he did not like Alfred F. Jones. On top of losing, the man was too naïve and idealistic, and Arthur hated how Alfred F. Jones, just by virtue of existing, reminded him of his past life. And by winning those three cases against Arthur, he'd proved he was better than Arthur even with his idealism. He was the person that Arthur had once wished he could be.

**.**

**Here were the facts** (that Arthur knew about Alfred F. Jones after one private detective and a lot of gossip from the all too talkative Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt firm to find out all he could about the young man who had suddenly beat him in that first case)**:**

Alfred F. Jones was a 26-year-old fresh graduate of Yale Law School. He'd graduated at the top of his class a year ago, and immediately gone to work for the New York State's Attorney – New York being his home state. It had taken him less than a year to become a new favorite and the rumors said that he'd been scouted by all variety of law firms, though he'd firmly refused and stayed on with the state. The reasons were as ludicrous wanting to actually help the government, to having a lover in the court system somewhere who was forcing him to stay.

As of yet, he had a perfect conviction rate – though Arthur firmly believed that was only because Alfred hadn't been around for very long and was also very lucky. And though he didn't make very much in terms of money, he was popular and well-liked.

As for his private life, Alfred F. Jones kept fairly quiet about things, though the rumors were that he'd had several girlfriends and even a fiancée before. When asked, Alfred F. Jones never confirmed or denied anything though. So all in all, he was a perfect mix of enigma and talent that a lot of lawyers expected good things from though many of the more experienced lawyers and judges were still quite skeptical about him – Arthur included.

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><p>And that was why Arthur was both surprised and annoyed when he looked up from his fourth pint at Rourey's, his favorite pub in New York, and found himself staring into the bright blue eyes of Alfred F. Jones.<p>

"Hey," Alfred said with his customary grin as he slid onto the barstool next to him.

Arthur was drunk enough by now to give in to emotion over propriety, and he groaned into his drink. "What are you doing here?" he said.

Alfred was the last person he wanted to be seeing after a case he'd just lost to the inexperienced young lawyer. It was humiliating.

"Just thought I'd go for a celebration drink," Alfred said.

Arthur squinted around the pub, but at 5 in the afternoon, the pub was fairly quiet and empty, and there was no one else around at all. "Alone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was early to be drinking, but Arthur really just wanted to get drunk at the moment. In fact, he was already starting to feel relaxed – a few more drinks and he could be in a blissful state of oblivion.

"Well, you're here," Alfred said. "Jack Daniels, on the rocks," he ordered when the bartender came around.

"Alfred," Arthur said. "I have absolutely no intention of having a _celebratory_ drink with you when I bloody lost." He couldn't believe Alfred F. Jones was either stupid or cruel enough to suggest this.

"You're at least a little happy that she lost," Alfred said.

Arthur looked incredulously at him. "I lost to an idiot," he said and took another long drink. "I lost to a bloody idiot."

Alfred laughed. "Hey, you know she was guilty," he said.

"Go away," Arthur said, glaring at him.

Alfred's drink came and he took it, taking a small sip. "Fine, you don't have to celebrate with me, but you look like you at least want some company," he said.

"If I wanted company I'd call Francis," Arthur said, snorting. "I certainly don't want _you_ for company no matter how good looking you are."

"How many drinks have you had?" Alfred asked, grinning. "You think I'm good looking?" He sounded boyishly pleased as though he was unaware of just how attractive he was. If Arthur were being critical which he usually was, he'd say that Alfred was, at the least, cute with his dimpled smile and clear blue eyes. If he was drunk and becoming increasingly uninhibited as he was at the moment, he could admit at least to himself, that Alfred was a little bit stunningly gorgeous in the way that movie stars tried to look and managed to get close to if they used a lot of makeup and the right camera angles. If Alfred was richer and working at an actual, well-known firm instead of the State's Attorney's office, he would probably be the most eligible bachelor on the planet. Of course Arthur had absolutely no intention of ever letting anyone know about his private and inconsequential opinions because no matter how attractive Alfred might be, Arthur had no intention of starting anything with a man who had defeated him three times in court.

"I think you're fat," Arthur said instead, turning a critical eye on Alfred. "You know you're supposed to be professional in court," he said. "Do you _ever_ iron anything? You do know what an iron is, don't you? You have crumbs all over your shirt, and your tie—have you never been taught how to tie it properly?" he demanded.

He was drunk enough to justify reaching over and grabbing the offending tie, tugging it loose as he glared at it. "And what are those stupid designs? You wore a tie with hamburger prints. Hamburger prints," Arthur repeated, squinting at the deep blue tie that was, indeed, speckled with not only hamburgers – but hamburgers with little googly eyes. "Just what do you think of the court house?" he demanded.

"My brother gave me this tie," Alfred said with a frown that was closer to a pout than anything else.

Arthur groaned. "I can't believe I lost to someone like you," he said, wobbling a little on his stool. He had maybe drunk a little bit more than he ought to. At this point, while he was still coherent, it would be a good idea to call Francis or one of the others. Arthur fully intended to drink himself into oblivion, and that meant he'd need someone to drive him home because he certainly wasn't stupid enough to get a DUI.

He let go of Alfred's tie, wobbled a bit more which apparently alarmed Alfred enough to reach out and steady him on his barstool. Arthur slapped his hands away and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the address book until he got to Francis's number.

"Francis Bonnefoy speaking," Francis picked up on the second ring.

"Who're you calling?" Alfred asked.

Arthur ignored Alfred. "It's me, obviously, you frog. You've got caller's ID," he said. "I'm at Rourey's and I am going to be drunk. So come over and give me a ride back," he ordered.

He heard Francis give a long-suffering sigh at the other end of the line. "Why do you always call me for this? Do you have no one else to call?"

"Because I beat up Antonio the last time I made him come, and Gilbert always ends up drunker than me and then neither of us will get home," Arthur said.

"Are you saying you think I am responsible?" Francis asked, and Arthur could almost see his grin on the other side of the phone.

"Also, I enjoy puking on your shirt the most. Rourey's," Arthur said and then hung up on him.

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert were three of Arthur's acquaintances – all three of them a few years older than him. He'd met Francis back in the UK actually having gone to law school with him and immediately hated the snobby Frenchman on sight. Antonio and Gilbert were both Francis's friends, which by proxy, meant that Arthur hated them too, though now that he knew them better, he hated each one of them for different reasons. It had been pure unlucky coincidence that the three of them, whom Arthur had thought had buggered out of his life forever, turned out to have started a law firm in New York. When he'd first moved to New York, Arthur had slept on Francis and Antonio's couch for two weeks before he found his own place, and he'd never admit it, but Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt had helped introduce Arthur to his first clients here in New York – granted, they were clients that the three of them didn't want – but clients were clients.

"Who'd you just call? Your girlfriend?" Alfred asked.

"Francis, and he is not a friend," Arthur said. "Or a girl," he added. "Definitely not a girl friend." He was babbling a little but he was on his fifth drink now and getting steadily closer to his desired state of oblivion. "Why do you care? Just who are you anyway?" Arthur asked, jabbing Alfred in the chest as he called for a sixth drink.

Alfred seemed to be amused by the question. "Alfred F. Jones, awesome prosecutor," he said. "Are you so drunk you forgot me?"

"You're an idiot," Arthur declared as the bartender passed him his glass. He took another long drink. "Why do you keep winning against me? Why do you even have so many cases against me? It's been three times. Three. Whole Times." Arthur punctuated each word with a jab to Alfred's chest. "I've _never_ lost here except to you."

"If you'd stop taking so many cases for the bad guys—" Alfred said.

"It doesn't matter if they're bad or good as long as I win!" Arthur snapped and turned back to his drink. "Stop going on about justice and bad guys – there's no such thing as black and white. The law system is proof of that."

He hated how Alfred reminded him that there _were_ actually good people in the world. Every case he'd seen Alfred take was against those who were guilty and powerful. He was like the retarded vigilante of the justice world. Arthur was even fairly sure that some magazine or newspaper had already nicknamed Alfred something similar.

"You used to think the same thing," Alfred said after a moment.

Arthur almost choked on his drink when he processed those words. "What?" he asked.

And that was when Francis walked into the pub.

"You disgusting Englishman, who drinks at six in the afternoon? Of course, only the English."

Arthur turned to glare at him. "You're one to be talking," he said.

"Hey, Bonnefoy," Alfred said behind Arthur.

Francis blinked. "Your unlucky drinking companion is Alfred?" he asked. "Now how did you get stuck with such an uncultured Englishman?" the second question was address to Alfred.

Arthur ignored them and ordered himself another drink. Now that Francis was here, he didn't have to worry about passing out in a gutter or accidentally bringing unwanted strangers back home. Regardless of how much they disliked each other, Francis was fairly responsible when it came to getting Arthur safely back to his flat because he depended on Arthur to do the same for him. They had a system based on mutual distrust – if Francis didn't get Arthur safely back to his flat, then the next time Francis needed Arthur to do so for him, Arthur wouldn't.

"You should come drinking with me," Francis said. "The tastes of the English are not to be trusted," he said.

Arthur tried to kick him and missed when Francis sidestepped him and then sat down on Alfred's other side. By now, more customers had come in so the bar was getting noisier, which meant it was harder for Arthur to hear what Francis and Alfred were talking about, not that he cared. He just wanted to be left to himself to get drunk after all, so Francis's presence was more useful than an annoyance for once if it meant he'd distract Alfred. Even though Arthur didn't particularly like the looks that Francis was sending Alfred's way. Not that he himself had any interest in Alfred no matter how attractive the man might be, of course.

Arthur sighed and got another drink – he wasn't even sure what number he was on now, the lull of voices in the background adding to his already drunken state. He was at the point now where he was pretty sure that in the morning, he was going to wake up with a bad hangover and a disjointed memory of what had happened the night before. Arthur was actually starting to get pleasantly sleepy now. He wouldn't mind passing out for a few hours and forgetting about his third defeat against Alfred F. Jones.

"Whoa, there, Arthur."

Arthur found himself blinking awake again when his world tilted, and then he was being lifted upright by a pair of warm arms. When he looked up, he saw Alfred looking at him with a mix of amusement and maybe even a little worry. "You okay there?" Alfred asked.

"You…" Arthur mumbled, squinting at Alfred. "You and your stupid tie and your stupid suit, and your stupid hair. Why does that piece always stick up?" Arthur found himself glaring at that piece of flyaway hair on Alfred's head and he reached for it and tugged hard.

"Ow! What the fuck," Alfred said, wincing, and trying to get free, though it only meant he let go of Arthur, and Arthur realized he was drunk enough that he couldn't quite figure out which way the floor was, and ended up slumping over onto Alfred to keep himself from sliding right onto the ground.

Alfred smelled wonderful. Like cologne and Jack Daniels but mostly like himself, and even with the layers of suit coats and shirts between them, Alfred felt very warm and very firm beneath Arthur's hands. And by now, Arthur was drunk enough to admit to himself that Alfred was like something out of one of Arthur's wet dreams – perfect when he was in a state of unconsciousness – or in this case, rapidly approaching semi-consciousness – and not something he would normally ever even try for if he was in his right mind.

"Oi, rosbif, you are much too drunk. I'm taking you home," Arthur heard Francis say.

Arthur ignored him, looking up at Alfred's face and pink lips – and then he climbed his way up Alfred until Arthur could see his face.

"Everything 'bout you is bloody unfair…" Arthur slurred.

And then he kissed Alfred.

After that, in accordance to Arthur's prediction, the memories were disjointed. There were some voices, and maybe the smell of a taxi, and holding onto someone as he was taken out of the pub. At some point, he remembered someone pulling his shoes off for him which was maybe a little odd because Francis never bothered doing anything other than opening Arthur's apartment door for him if he couldn't do it himself, and generally on those nights, Arthur woke up face down on the wooden floorboards of his entrance.

But this time he was tumbling into a warm bed, and there was a flash of blue eyes above him, and someone's hands running down his sides that felt so good. There was a warm mouth on his own, and friction between his legs, someone's voice – his own – begging for more and more. And then blissful oblivion.

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><p>When Arthur woke, it was indeed to the expected nausea and piercing headache that accompanied his hangovers, and he groaned, trying to suffocate himself into his pillow. In fact, he thought he possibly felt worse than usual – sore all over like he'd done some sort of strenuous activity the day before when in fact, all he'd done was go to court and then the bar.<p>

Arthur groaned again, and was suddenly and very unpleasantly startled to feel a weight around his shoulders move. He instinctively froze. Shit. He was in bed with someone was his first thought. It better not fucking be fucking Francis was his second thought. Although come to think of it, it was fairly unlikely it was Francis because Francis seemed just as appalled to sleep with Arthur as the feeling was mutual (unfounded, entirely, because while Arthur had his doubts about Francis, he knew that he himself was definitely amazing in bed).

It took him a few moments to finally worked up the willpower to crack his eyes open to figure out just how to deal with his unwelcome bedmate. Which was no easy task considering how hung over Arthur was. It was due to sheer willpower that he managed it at all.

Which wasn't a good idea when he found himself staring at an expanse of golden, tanned skin. Naked. Okay. Even worse. And plus, judging from that arm that was running its way down Arthur's back, Arthur was naked too. He'd gone and picked someone up and brought him back to his flat. Shit, this was exactly the sort of thing Francis was supposed to prevent. Arthur could only hope it was someone who would be easy to get rid of.

"Hey, you feeling okay?"

The voice pierced through Arthur's head, making it throb worse, but the worst part was that Arthur recognized it.

Alfred F. Jones tugged Arthur forward a little more and Arthur was caught, staring into his blue eyes and smile. "Morning, Arthur," he said and leaned forward to kiss him.

Apparently, with enough shock and willpower, Arthur's hangover was not actually undefeatable as Arthur shrieked and scrambled back.

"What the hell are you doing here? Fuck! Get out!" Arthur shouted. He was so worked up he couldn't even curse properly. "Get out!" he shouted again.

Alfred's expression went from startled to annoyed, but he did get out of bed and shit, Alfred really was completely naked. And damn, his arse was seriously fine which Arthur found himself noting despite his current perturbation.

"Arthur—" Alfred said.

"You—you get out!" Arthur shouted again, pointing at the door.

Alfred got dressed much too slowly for Arthur's liking as Arthur mentally cursed everything from Rourey's pub to Alfred's stupid cowlick and swore to himself to never ever fucking ever drink ever again.

Arthur glared at Alfred when Alfred turned around. "Get out!" he repeated again before Alfred could say anything.

But instead of being ashamed or irritated or anything like the sort of expression he ought to have, Alfred just looked mildly amused again, coming nearer – much to Arthur's consternation so that Arthur was forced to back up until he was close to falling off the bed. Then he smiled, leaned forward, and kissed Arthur which had to be disgusting no matter how Arthur looked at it because Arthur could taste the stale alcohol on his own breath.

"Last night was seriously awesome," Alfred said as he pulled back and grinned. "See you in court next week!" he said, walking out of his bedroom.

A moment later, Arthur heard his front door slam shut. He finally let himself slump, and a moment later, ran for the toilet so he could throw up.

Fuck, Arthur thought as he straightened up over the toilet and then went to brush his teeth. He'd just slept with the last person he intended to in the world. The guy who had actually defeated his undefeated record. Three times.

Arthur was not looking forward to meeting Alfred F. Jones again.

And what was that about meeting him in court again next week?

Arthur paused, toothbrush in mouth, as he mentally catalogued the cases he had. He had a meeting early on in the week with his client, Ivan Braginsky, about something he wanted to discuss, and he had to prepare for the Vargas brothers case, though they only had to deal with the pre-trial motions next week. Arthur shouldn't be seeing Alfred at all unless…

…oh shit, Alfred was on the Vargas case.

Arthur scrubbed his hands over his face as he exhaled. He was not looking forward to this.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC?<strong>

Yeah, this is just going to be an utterly self-indulgent, cheesy dramatic, trashy fic. Not even lying.


	2. Chapter 2

**M-Rated this chapter. For reasons you would expect when a fanfiction is rated M. Yeah. **

Hong Kong = Horace and Seychelles = Angelique (both of which are the popular names used in fandom so)

* * *

><p>Arthur found himself sitting alone at his small dining table, idly twirling the tag of the teabag, and trying to organize his frazzled mind into some semblance of order.<p>

By which he meant, pretending last night had never happened and pointedly not thinking about Alfred F. Jones.

First things first, he had a meeting with Ivan Braginsky in a half hour which was enough time for him to get dressed and put the sheets to wash. After Braginsky, Arthur could get to working on the Vargas case which he was most definitely going to win this time – he would make sure of it – and then he could decide how to deal with everything else.

Well, at least he didn't have to hurry. That was the good thing about living right above his own office. Once he'd made enough money and had enough clients to warrant renting out a nicer office space, he'd searched real estate for a few months until he found his current home and office on the corner of a complex in rich Manhattan. It had once been an old brewery that was now remodeled and rented out as various three-story spaces. Arthur had bought out the corner of the building and started his own remodeling – going for a comfortable, modern look for the first and second floors which he used as his small independent law firm. The loft, though, he kept as his private apartment, and he didn't do much remodeling at all.

The walls of his apartment had been painted over, but the antique cabinets and paneling, Arthur kept quite happily. The kitchen and washrooms were all tiled with genuine china – an amazing find that Arthur was sure, at the time it was built, must have cost a small fortune. The bathroom had a real clawfoot tub with little brass feet, a bit green with age now, and the last owner had opted to extend the ceiling so that in exchange for attic space, Arthur got a high, slanted ceiling with clean oak paneling. The only problem with the entire setup was that the building was _old_ which meant that his showers had a habit of breaking down every so often.

It was a space that Arthur always felt comfortable in and tone of the few that he actively adored despite it being New York City. He never brought anyone back to his sanctuary, but then, he usually didn't bring drunk flings back home at all. When he slept with someone for business or pleasure, it was always a hotel. Arthur's home was his own until that bloody stupid Francis and Alfred fucking F. Jones.

Arthur massaged his forehead as he took a sip of his tea, telling himself not to think about that, and then got up to go work.

He pulled out all the sheets and bedding first to stuff into his washing machine which was when he noticed Alfred had left behind his awful hamburger tie. Arthur considered it for a moment, debating whether or not to return it to him or burn the eyesore – but in the end, he tossed into the bottom of his sock drawer to hold as captive until a later date.

Then he got dressed in his customary professional suit, did up a proper tie, and went down to prepare for his meeting.

Arthur only hired two other permanents to work in the office with him. He was the only lawyer, but Horace – a second-generation immigrant from Hong Kong – worked as his investigator and ran miscellaneous errands for him, and he also had a girl, Angelique, who worked as his secretary.

Both of them were already downstairs and working. Horace looked up from a pile of files he seemed to be sorting at one of the conference tables, giving Arthur a nod before looking back down, and Angelique didn't even bother – continuing whatever she was saying on the phone.

Although Arthur's personal apartment looked a bit antique and tended toward clutter, his professional offices were very neat and tidy – though probably more because of Angelique and Horace, than through any talent of Arthur's own.

If Arthur felt comfortable when he was in his apartment, he felt proud every time he walked into his offices. Since it was still just one small office, on both the first and second floors, Arthur had knocked down nearly all the walls and replaced them with soundproof glass. It gave the illusion that the place was more spacious than it really was, and privacy was easily established with shades that could be drawn at will. When he looked at the rich red carpeting, the clean desks, and warm lighting, Arthur always felt a flash of pride that regardless of what had happened in the past, he was richer, more skilled, and much more successful than he'd been in the past.

After making sure there were no messages for him from Angelique, Arthur settled down in his personal office and regarded the array of post-it notes stuck on his computer monitor. With his tea drunk, his body showered and clean so that he could just about ignore the soreness, and now being back in his workspace without Alfred F. Jones, Arthur began to feel more at ease again.

It was easier not thinking about Alfred and those bits and pieces of disjointed memory when Arthur wasn't immediately confronted by the visual evidence in his bedroom. It was easier not to wonder why Alfred had wanted to sleep with him or how it had happened, or how it had been because even if those bits of memory were saying it had perhaps been a bit brilliant, obviously Arthur's memories weren't exactly trustworthy considering how drunk he'd been at the time. Still, every time Arthur closed his eyes, it was like that one brief glance he'd seen of Alfred naked was burned in the back of his eyelids. It was easier, but not by much.

By the time Ivan Braginsky arrived, Arthur was actually eager to see him for once if only for the distraction.

"Good morning," Arthur said, welcoming Ivan into his office as soon as he saw the man.

Ivan Braginsky was probably the most intimidating human being Arthur knew. For one, the man was huge. He towered an entire head above Arthur, and had a habit of standing around, exuding height and girth until Arthur asked him to sit. For another, he wore a scarf all of the time – even in the middle of the hot summers. Arthur had no idea why, and he'd never bothered to ask. Third, and possibly most intimidating of all, was the smile that Ivan always wore on his face. At first glance, it seemed like a pleasant sort of smile. But then Arthur saw him wearing the same exact expression while telling Arthur to defend him because he'd been accused of beating a Lithuanian man half to death in the hospital, and it wasn't nearly as pleasant anymore.

In any case, Arthur had no desire to figure out Ivan Braginsky as a human being – he simply defended him because he paid good money. _Very_ good money because Ivan was a loan shark. Although Ivan had a few legitimate businesses on the side – a chain restaurant, an antique shop, and so on – his main business was in loaning for a high interest. And Ivan Braginsky was not the type of man you asked to wait on a payment. Arthur couldn't even remember all the various charges brought up against Ivan for assault though he was sure that more than one victim was too scared of Braginsky to report him at all. Nearly all these cases were easy to settle outside of court for the right payment. Possibly more worrying than the criminal charges, though, were the connections that Ivan seemed to have. Arthur wasn't sure exactly what sort of business Ivan had with various people, but he'd heard that Ivan had ties to drug cartels, gangs, and even a Russian communist group. He'd also defended Ivan more than once against the claims that he was affiliated with any one of those. During the few times in which there was evidence enough to arrest him, it and any witnesses always managed to mysteriously disappear right before the trial. It made for many victories on Arthur's part and a lot of business where Ivan Braginsky was concerned.

Still, he didn't like Ivan Braginsky much.

"How can I help you today?" Arthur asked, gesturing for Ivan to sit.

Ivan sat down in the chair across from the desk and smiled. "I need a restraining order," he said.

Whatever Arthur had been expecting him to say, he did not expect this. "What?"

"That is what you call it, yes? A restraining order?" Ivan asked.

"Er, yes, but those are mainly used for cases of domestic violence," Arthur said. He couldn't imagine Ivan Braginsky being a victim of domestic violence.

Ivan sighed and for once, Arthur actually saw the smile drop off of Ivan's face. "I have a Belarusian cousin," he said. "We grew up together in Russia – like brother and sister – but I did not see her for many years after I came to America. A few weeks ago, she wrote to say she was going to visit me. I did not think she intended to move in," he said.

Arthur stared. "And she's abusing you?" he asked.

Ivan shrugged. "Not physically, no. But she wants to marry me."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Arthur said. "I'd suggest letting her down gently. A restraining order would put a bad strain on your relationship from then on – I wouldn't recommend it except in actual cases of domestic violence or harassment."

"No, you don't understand. Natalia wants to _marry me_," Ivan said, his eyes going wide. It was literally the first time Arthur had ever seen Ivan look unbalanced and scared regardless of how close any of his previous cases had gotten. "She calls twenty times a day _at least_ when I said she could not stay with me. She broke into my house three times already – once through my bedroom window – my bedroom is on the second floor," he said. "I found her in bed with me once and when I ran to the bathroom to hide, she waited outside for ten hours."

So even Ivan Braginsky had someone he was scared of. The world never ceased to amaze.

Arthur sighed. "Any stalking?" he asked as he began to take notes.

"Yes, she follows me everywhere I go. I cannot even step outside of my own house without finding her car parked across the street," he said. "You see, my family – we are very determined to get the things we want." Despite the fact that this woman was breaking a couple dozen laws to get what she so-called wanted, Ivan sounded almost proud of the girl.

Arthur nodded. "Well, if you are serious about the restraining order, then we can obtain one," he said. "It'll come in two stages. When you get the restraining order at first, it'll be called a Temporary Restraining Order – this lasts about ten days or so," he told Ivan. "You'll be given a date for both you and Natalia to appear in court. When that happens, you will both be given the opportunity to tell the judge what happened, and then the judge will determine what the terms of the final restraining order will be."

Ivan nodded. "Very well."

"After that, the court will give you a copy of the restraining order that you can show to any police and they will be required to help you if your cousin does attempt to contact you," Arthur explained. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I cannot sleep at night when she calls me every half hour to make sure I am at home, I cannot eat without her trying to break into my kitchen – she's quite skilled at knife throwing, you know." Here Ivan sounded proud again. "I cannot even work without her coming to my office with marriage registration forms. I could have… other ways of dealing with her, but I do not want to hurt her."

This was the first time Arthur had heard of a restraining order being used as the gentle form of rejection, but then again, the Braginsky family clearly wasn't normal.

"How long will it take to get this restraining order?" Ivan asked.

"Not long," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair and feeling rather relieved that all Ivan wanted was a small piece of business. He didn't feel up for another criminal case right now. "I can obtain the forms for you and then we'll simply file the petition. If she really is as you say, then it should be an open and shut case."

Ivan nodded as he stood up, smile back on his face again. "Good. Then I will expect your phone call," he said and strode out of the office again.

Arthur exhaled when Ivan left the building. Even though Ian had been one of his first clients here, no matter how long Arthur knew him, he still made Arthur jumpy.

"Horace," Arthur called.

Horace looked up from the front desk where he was chatting with Angelique. "Yes?"

"I need you to pick up forms for a restraining order when you have time," Arthur said.

Horace didn't blink an eye though Angelique looked rather curious. "All right."

Arthur took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, feeling his muscles protest as he did and just like that, he was thinking about Alfred F. Jones again. He wrenched his chair forward and reached for the Vargas case files. Work. He needed work to keep his mind off of things.

* * *

><p>At around dinnertime, Arthur was interrupted from his studying and research by a call from Francis.<p>

"So, how was it?" Francis asked as soon as Arthur picked up.

"How was what?" Arthur asked, distracted. The Vargas brothers were incredibly annoying clients to work with. With client-attorney privilege, Arthur wasn't going to reveal anything about them that they didn't want the world to know and they knew this, but even with the assurance of secrecy, the Vargas brothers still lied more often than not, and even when they weren't purposefully lying, they tended to forget half the details they were supposed to be telling Arthur. It was always a chore to decipher his notes after the conversations with the pair and this case was no exception. In this case, it seemed they'd neglected to mention they'd been caught on a security video camera.

"Alfred F. Jones," Francis said.

Arthur promptly focused on the conversation. "What—"

"I can't believe Alfred banged Arthur!" he could hear Gilbert shouting in the background and concluded that Francis must still be at his office. "Seriously, of all people?" Arthur wasn't entirely sure if Gilbert was insulting himself or Alfred, but he was very quickly being reminded of something.

"You! You were supposed to take me home, you frog!" Arthur shouted, immediately forgetting all about the Vargas case. "How could you let that happen? Next time you get drunk around me, I really will leave you in the bloody gutter, you fucking twat! I thought we had an agreement!"

"I told you he'd be mad, Francis," Arthur heard Antonio saying faintly in the background.

"Next time I see you, you're fucking dead," Arthur told Francis.

"Hey, we have an agreement to let each other go home with other people too as long as they're attractive and trustworthy… well, attractive anyway," Francis said. "And Alfred surely fits under that category."

"He's the _last_ person I want to sleep with," Arthur snapped.

"Oh, is that so? Then you fooled everyone in the bar last night," Francis said dryly. "You were about to dry hump him right in public if I didn't have him take you home."

Arthur was glad no one was around to see his face go an immediate red. "Wh-What?" he said faintly. The only bits in the bar that he remembered beyond the very beginning was a vague sense of there being the clink of beer glasses and voices all around them, and holding onto someone who felt very firm and smelled very nice.

"You almost gave me a black eye for trying to pull you off of him, merde," Francis said. "My eye is still tender. I could sue you for assault."

"I'm sure it was justified self-defense, frog," Arthur snapped.

"Plus, I'd have to be insane to _not_ let you leave with Alfred," Francis continued. "You know he's the one everyone wants their hands on right now? Handsome, smart, _handsome_…"

"He isn't!" Arthur said.

"Now that is denial if I've ever heard it," Francis said, laughing. "And besides, I thought it was doing you a favor," he said. "I know how you work. You have another case against him soon, don't you? Persuasion is always more persuasive in bed…" he trailed off in a suggestive tone.

"I have no intention of doing that," Arthur snapped and went a bit redder. He wouldn't deny that on the rare occasion, he sometimes did sleep with people he otherwise wouldn't for a choice piece of information, or a favor that would turn the tides in a legal battle. He didn't particularly like mixing business with pleasure, though, so Arthur mainly kept his less than completely legal activities to the occasional breaking and entering, pulling strings, and possibly obstructing some evidence that probably wouldn't have made a big difference anyway. It wasn't that Arthur didn't like to win fairly – it was just that he had to win whether it was a fair battle or not. And it really wasn't like being an attorney wasn't all about manipulation tactics anyway and a lot of the things they all did – being unable to use illegally obtained evidence even if it was true, using sympathetic witnesses to sway the jury, there were so many things that were legal and yet not fair, or illegal but very fair, that doing just a few more didn't make a difference. And so far, it had always worked for him. "I'll have you know, I've got a nearly a hundred percent success rate here which is more than can be said about you," he said.

"Except for the cases against Alfred F. Jones, and we all know that your previous success wasn't always due to fair play," Francis said. "So just how was he in bed?"

Arthur involuntarily flashed back to the smooth skin under his hands, mouth against his own, himself gasping something. Most of his memory was still comprised of blanks, though, and to tell the truth, if he hadn't woken up naked and sore, he wouldn't have known they'd had sex at all. It sort of made it all better and worse.

"You were too drunk to remember, weren't you?" Francis said after a short pause.

"I was too drunk to remember," Arthur admitted – not that he intended to let Francis know anything even if he did remember.

Francis let out a sigh. "Such a disappointment. Well, there'll be other times," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean—" Arthur found himself snapping at the dial tone.

He hung up the phone and glared at nothing in particular, concentration shot. Damn Alfred F. Jones. The man hadn't even called to apologize.

* * *

><p>The days leading up to the pretrial motions passed more or less peacefully. Arthur studied the Vargas case until he could drop, got Ivan's restraining order processed, and he even managed to avoid thinking about Alfred F. Jones at all beyond the thought of beating him in court. Unfortunately, though, there was nothing Arthur could do to control his dreams at night.<p>

Ever since that first night, Arthur's nights were haunted by Alfred F. Jones. Phantom touches brushing along his back, a warm mouth against his own, stunning blue eyes crinkled in a smile at him, long fingers wrapped around his cock. More than once, Arthur woke half-hard, and he'd find himself in the shower with two fingers up his arse, thinking determinedly of nothing and breathing only the steam of the water and clean soap, as he worked himself to completion. It had been a long time since he felt like this at all much less had this sort of a physical reaction towards a specific person, and no matter how much Arthur controlled his thoughts in the daytime and told himself Alfred was not someone he wanted to involve himself with, the dreams at night still came.

So even though Arthur had braced himself to see Alfred again for the pretrial motions, just the sight of him standing down the hallway in the courthouse was enough to make Arthur's pulse beat just a little faster.

Alfred saw Arthur and waved, smiling in that infuriatingly cheerful way as usual.

Arthur glared at him and turned away, willing his face to cool down and his heart to steady.

The Vargas brothers were late even though Arthur had made them promise to come early to the court house to warn them yet again, not to say anything stupid. They did, however, manage to get to the court room before the pretrial motions were supposed to start – both dressed in suits and looking rather nervous though in different ways. Feliciano, the younger brother, looked like he might start crying at any moment, whereas Lovino, the elder Vargas, looked like he wanted to start cursing up a storm.

"You're late!" Arthur said as they hurried up to him inside the courtroom. It had been a chore ignoring Alfred who was standing just a few yards to the left of him, especially because every time he looked up, it seemed like Alfred was staring at him.

"I'm sorry!" Feliciano wailed and ducked behind Lovino.

"We fucking have shit to deal with other than this. And we're on time to the fucking trial, anyway," Lovino blustered.

Arthur glared at him and Lovino jumped, looking red-faced and guilty. The odd thing about the two brothers was that despite Arthur being their lawyer and therefore in their employ, they seemed utterly terrified of him. And despite being a seemingly useless pair – neither of the brothers had an education, they'd never held a real job before in their lives, and even physically speaking, they looked quite weak – the Vargas brothers had managed to find the one thing that fit them and they made quite as small fortune doing it – they were art forgers.

Feliciano Vargas was quite a talented artist who did everything from oil painting to sculptures and he'd made some of the best forgeries that even most of the experts had trouble telling apart from the originals – at least not until it was too late. On the business side of the operation, Lovino Vargas was in charge of all other criminal things. He was the one who would steal the art for Feliciano to copy and replace the copy with the original. He was the one who pawned off the originals onto the black market to make them the money. They were a pair of the most notorious con artists in the world though apart from stealing a lot of art, the pair were relatively harmless and tended not to even think of themselves as criminals despite their multitude of convictions in the past.

They'd both spent an inordinate amount of time in jail before they met Arthur, and even with Arthur as their lawyer, the Vargas brothers were so clumsy about their crimes, that they were continuously being caught. In the two years or so that Arthur had been their lawyer, he had managed to reduce sentences for them twice, and had them completely ruled innocent once which was better than any other lawyer had managed to do for them so far – not surprising considering how careless they were.

"I'm going to argue that they omit the security footage," Arthur said. "Both of you just stay here and do not make a scene," he said, glaring especially at Lovino who jumped again and tried to hide behind Feliciano.

The two brothers sat stock still in their seats when the judge motioned for the two attorneys to state their cases.

"Your honor, I request that the security footage of the Metropolitan to be left out," Arthur said immediately. "It's irrelevant that the Vargas brothers happened to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art a few days before the estimated theft. It would unfairly influence the jury."

"It's relevant, your honor," Alfred said immediately and Arthur pretended not to see the look Alfred had just shot at him. "It shows that the Vargas brothers were indeed casing the museum—"

"Objection, that's an opinion, Jones," Arthur said.

This time, it was one of the Vargas' clients who had been caught with an original Da Vinci – Arthur had to grudgingly admire a guy who managed to steal one of those at all even if it had been less than a month later that they were caught. The man had squealed on the Vargas brothers and while neither the painting itself, nor the forged painting would be much in the way of evidence – after all, Lovino Vargas sweared up and down that they had left no traces on the real painting this time, and the forged work was always incredibly hard to trace to the original especially Feliciano did nearly everything by hand – aging canvases and paints himself and sometimes going so far as to make them all on his own. They certainly had the art down – they just weren't very good criminals.

The witness willing to testify – one Steven Bardini – was the biggest problem. There was nothing they could do about him beyond using violence or blackmail to shut him up, but the Vargas brothers weren't nearly as ruthless as Ivan Braginsky. Arthur had discussed the terms with the Vargas brothers and they had agreed that they should try for a reduced sentence. The problem was that the previous State's prosecutor had wanted to give the Vargas brothers a much harsher conviction than Arthur was willing to settle for, and Arthur was sure that if they brought it to court, he could at least make a good argument for a less severe sentence. He hadn't expected the prosecution team to switch and for Alfred F. Jones to be his opponent instead.

The security footage itself was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. A security camera of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where the Da Vinci had come from, had caught Lovino and Feliciano on camera a few days inspecting the very painting stolen just a few days before the actual theft. While it was just a minor piece of evidence that could confirm that the Vargas brothers were aware the Da Vinci painting existed, any piece of evidence thrown out in this case might help Arthur argue for a reduced sentence for the two brothers.

"We're not in session, Mr. Kirkland," Judge O'Brien said, looking faintly amused. Judge O'Brien was a middle-aged man who Arthur knew was conservative and very much on the side of innocent until proven guilty. Arthur had gotten lucky with the judges this time, and he'd be more inclined to listen to Arthur's arguments.

"Your honor, I'm only saying that the jury would be negatively influenced if they saw the security footage," Arthur said. "It is mere coincidence that the Vargas brothers happened to be in the museum a few days before the theft—"

"Because they were casing it," Alfred said.

"That's a matter of opinion," Arthur snapped. "Any number of people have been caught on tape admiring that painting – the Vargas brothers were only two of them."

"I think it's a little more than just coincidence that they were staring specifically at the stolen Da Vinci," Alfred said.

"I—"

"Mr. Jones, I see your argument, but I'll have to go with Mr. Kirkland on this one," Judge O'Brien interrupted. "Admiring a painting during normal museum hours is not a crime. Any other arguments?" he asked.

"No, your honor," Arthur said, satisfied. It was a small victory against Alfred but something.

Alfred shook his head too, and then they were both dismissed for the next case.

The Vargas brothers both jumped up, looking so nervous that it was almost comic.

"All right, the security tape is out so the case will be easier to argue now," Arthur said as they walked out of the courtroom. "There wasn't anything else you forgot to tell me, right?" he asked and glared at the two brothers.

"No, no, we told you everything," Feliciano said, regaining his cheer as soon as they walked out of the courtroom.

"You know the trial hasn't even begun yet and you're both only out on bail," Arthur said, frowning at him. "I'll argue what I can, but with the witness and evidence this time, the goal is a reduced sentence – not complete innocence."

Feliciano seemed blissfully unaware that they were still in deep trouble. "Let's get pasta for dinner to celebrate!" he said cheerfully. "Do you want to come, Mr. Kirkland?"

"No thank you," Arthur said, glaring at Feliciano who cringed at the look and ducked behind Lovino again.

"A-Anyway, just make sure you win for us!" Lovino shouted and then the two brothers all but ran out of the building.

Arthur sighed. No matter how many times he explained their multiple crimes and the results they could expect, the two brothers just didn't seem to understand. As long as Arthur continued to settle or win his court cases and the Vargas brothers were happy though, he didn't really care.

"Hey, Arthur!" A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and Arthur jumped, stiffening.

"Jones," Arthur said, cursing himself for not leaving sooner.

"Aw, no need to be so formal after last time," Alfred said, grinning at Arthur when he turned to face him. "You can call me Alfred or Al if you want."

"We are not friends," Arthur said, glaring in the general vicinity of Alfred's chin, unable to bring himself to actually look at Alfred's face. "I barely know you," he snapped and brushed Alfred's hand off his shoulder.

Up close, it was even worse. Arthur hadn't thought he'd have this sort of reaction to Alfred even with all the dreams he'd had of the man. For heaven's sake, he couldn't even remember most of their one-night stand and apart from the physical reaction, Arthur still dislike Alfred F. Jones as much as the first time Alfred had defeated him in the courtroom. There was absolutely no reason for Arthur to get flustered when he saw Alfred, but here he was, so unnerved and tense that he couldn't even make eye contact.

"So how about going out for coffee then?" Alfred asked. "You're not doing anything now, right?"

Arthur unwillingly found himself staring at Alfred's face. "Are you bloody insane? We're on opposite sides on this case. I am certainly not going anywhere with you."

"But you would if we weren't?" Alfred asked and if possible, his grin just got wider.

Arthur recomposed himself. "Like I said, I barely know you—"

"You could get to," Alfred said.

Arthur straightened up and forced himself to calm down. "Unless you want to discuss what sort of a plea bargain my clients can make, I have absolutely no interest in talking to you, Jones."

Alfred looked slightly taken-aback, and then he smiled. "Always about business, aren't you, Arthur?" he said. "Sorry, I'm not taking a plea. I can nail those Vargas brothers once and for all this time with our witness."

Arthur gave Alfred the most contemptuous look he could muster up, and his voice came out composed even if he didn't feel it. "And that is why I won't be getting coffee with you," Arthur finished. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said and stepped past Alfred, heading for the door.

He made it outside without any protest from Alfred at all, and Arthur was mildly surprised that Alfred hadn't tried harder – not that he wanted Alfred to because he was a nuisance, after all. But with Alfred's personality, it was strange that he hadn't insisted on it even if this was all for the best.

It was late afternoon by now, and getting windy and a bit cold on the streets, bits of crunchy early-autumn foliage swirling around his ankles as Arthur wrapped his coat around himself a little tighter and began to head home. It was all for the best he wasn't involving himself with Alfred, Arthur told himself as he walked down the street. After all, nothing good could come of it. They were both due in court to battle this case out in just two days, and Arthur ought to go home to study up on the case and review some more. If he was lucky, maybe he could find some loophole – a piece of evidence that had been illegally obtained, some reason so that Steven Bardini couldn't testify, anything.

So instead of getting coffee with Alfred, Arthur ended up getting Chinese take-out from a nearby restaurant alone. He brought it back to his office and used one of the conference rooms to eat while spreading out all the various notes and evidence files he had on the Vargas case all over the long table.

Horace and Angelique had both already left for the day, leaving Arthur alone in the conference room as night fell and he studied.

The Vargas brothers had already had so many previous convictions, that it was unlikely that any jury would even be sympathetic towards them. Furthermore, there was the witness to testify against them even though there was no actual evidence to link the Vargas brothers to the crime, and at least Lovino had been smart enough to use a few go-betweens and had no paper trail on his side. Still, he had no idea what Steven Bardini might have as evidence, and Arthur wished again, that the prosecution wasn't so eager to catch the Vargas brothers and would offer them a plea. It would make his job so much easier.

Arthur sighed as massaged his forehead, stabbing a piece of orange chicken, and studied the notes some more. At this point, even with the security footage gone, Alfred was right and even if Arthur managed to reduce the sentence, he wouldn't be able to reduce it by much.

A knock at his door startled Arthur from his contemplation. Angelique had already drawn all the curtains and shades before she left, and most of the lights outside of the conference room Arthur was using to study, were also already dimmed. A quick glance at his watch told Arthur it was already half past nine, and although clients did sometimes need him at odd hours, they usually called instead of coming in person.

Arthur frowned as he left the conference room, all his notes and Chinese food still scattered on the table, and went to open the door.

He did not expect to see Alfred F. Jones standing outside.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, one hand still on the door handle as he took Alfred in. He was still in his suit, clearly come from work, and he was holding two Starbucks coffees as he grinned at Arthur.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Arthur exhaled but stepped back to let Alfred in. "What are you doing here?" he asked, too startled to even feel properly annoyed.

"You didn't want to go out for coffee, so I brought it here for you," Alfred said, handing him one of the cups.

Arthur took it, but continued frowning as Alfred shut the door behind him and began looking around Arthur's office. "Nice place you got here," he commented. "You're working late today," he said, looking over at the lit conference room through the glass walls.

Arthur took a sip of the coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste.

"You don't like it black?" Alfred asked, watching him. "I did bring some sugar and crème if you want," he said, sticking one hand in his suit pocket and pulling out a handful of the small crèmes and sugar packets. Really, Alfred was ridiculously unprofessional.

"I don't like coffee," Arthur said.

"What? Really?" Alfred asked, looking genuinely surprised. "I thought everyone liked coffee."

Under the dim light, filtered by the glass walls, Alfred's face stood out, a warm tan, and regardless of how he was treating his suit and what putting in its pockets, it was well cut and fit his body. Arthur considered for a moment, the thoughts and dreams he'd been having about Alfred ever since that drunk night he could only half remember, and he reminded himself that this wasn't a good idea. They were on opposite sides of this court case, and Arthur had no intention of starting something with a man he actively disliked.

"So about the Vargas case," Alfred said in a conversational tone. "Are you really taking it on?" he asked. "You know they're guilty. Everyone knows their guilty and we have the witness and proof this time – they deserve the conviction they're going to get."

"They haven't been convicted of this case yet," Arthur said.

"Oh come on. Steven Bardini is willing to testify against them and he's got proof," Alfred said, confirming Arthur's suspicions. With that new bit of information, Arthur wanted to ask Alfred to agree to a plea bargain again, but he doubted that Alfred would give in even if he begged with the sort of evidence that Alfred had. "They have a criminal record that's miles long. You're not going to win this one."

"I'll argue that they sold the piece to him not knowing what it was," Arthur said, bluffing.

"For the price Bardini paid?" Alfred said, raising an eyebrow. "Nope, we got them this time."

The most annoying part of it all was that Arthur knew he was right. Right now the prosecution held all the cards, and Arthur had nothing to offer. Unless…

Arthur considered his dreams again. Just standing this close to Alfred was wreaking havoc with his senses and he didn't want to scrutinize it too closely, but maybe if he did it just once with Alfred, he could get it out of his system. He took another sip of the bitter coffee, and then put the cup down on the nearby table. Clearly, Alfred had at least somewhat of an interest in him although Arthur had no idea why, but Francis was right – Arthur played dirty.

Alfred had turned to inspect one of the photographs that hung on their office walls, taking absent-minded sips of his own coffee when Arthur took two steps forward so he was directly in front of him. "Is this a—"

Arthur took Alfred's chin and turned him to face Arthur. "Let's just cut to the chase, why don't we," Arthur said.

He got just a glance of Alfred's startled face before Arthur pulled him down and kissed him.

Arthur was oddly nervous about it all even though it wasn't the first time he'd seduced someone for his own advantage, and it wasn't even the first time he'd even be fucking with Alfred.

Alfred's lips were dry and a bit chapped, and Arthur didn't realize he was holding his breath until he felt Alfred's arms wrap around him and suddenly he was being kissed so enthusiastically it hurt a little. So this was what Alfred kissed like, Arthur thought vaguely, as he opened his mouth to him. And although it was too fast, Arthur could feel Alfred's hands running down his sides, tugging his shirt loose from where it was tucked into his trousers, and backing him up until Arthur nearly lost his balance, being pushed into the glass wall of the conference room.

The glass rattled and Arthur started. "Th—the wall," Arthur said, breathless, as Alfred's mouth left Arthur's lips and Alfred kissed a line down his jaw, nipping and biting. Arthur wanted to protest and tell Alfred not to leave marks, but he couldn't seem to find the right words.

Arthur gasped when just as quickly as the kiss had turned passionate, Alfred reached around Arthur and hiked him up by the arse so that Arthur had to wrap a leg around Alfred's waist or risk falling.

"I don't think—" Arthur stuttered, but every time he tried to say something, Alfred ground his hips against Arthur's, and he lost his train of thought all over again.

He had the vague thought that this was happening too fast, and Arthur hadn't felt this hot since he was a teenager, and a moment later, it was Arthur who was fumbling to get both their trousers off enough for some actual contact. It took longer than he was patient for, because Alfred had found a sensitive spot by his collarbone and was sucking a hickey to it, every new touch making Arthur more frantic for real sex.

"Oh shit…" Alfred let out a hiss of breath when Arthur's hand closed around both their cocks, Alfred feeling just as hard as Arthur was. Arthur managed a few slow strokes, but Alfred was just that much taller than him that the angle was awkward when Arthur's leg was tiring and Alfred had to keep hiking him back up when Arthur began to slip down again.

Arthur let out a hiss of frustration when he slipped for the fifth time. "Bloody mother fucking cock sucking—"

Arthur's curse was interrupted by Alfred's breathless laugh. "For all you act professional, you sure have a dirty mouth," he said.

Arthur was about start cursing at Alfred instead, but Alfred abruptly let go of Arthur altogether. And before Arthur could ask him what he was doing, Alfred had turned him around until Arthur was facing the glass of the conference room, the lighting throwing a glare through the walls at them so that Arthur could see just the faint reflection of himself, his lips swollen and face flushed, his shirt and tie completely loosened, and his trousers around his ankles. It had been a long time since he'd gotten this hard this quickly, and felt so desperate for anyone.

"Al—Alfred," Arthur gasped when Alfred's hand closed around his cock, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Tighten up for me," Alfred said, his breath hot in Arthur's ear, and his hands pushing Arthur's thighs together.

Arthur felt Alfred's dick slide between his legs, and the friction felt so good, so good. Alfred's body hovered hot behind him, his hand sliding around Arthur's dick, and the jerking motion of his hips pushing Arthur against the glass so hard and fast that it was all Arthur could do to keep his hands pressed against the wall so his face wouldn't slam right into it. With every jerk of Alfred's hips, Arthur felt a streak of pleasure race up his spine, and the wall rattled hard enough that Arthur wondered if it might fall down and was turned on enough not to care even if it did.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur—"

Arthur heard Alfred mumbling into the back of his neck, his hair pressed against Arthur's skin, and his arms tightening around Arthur. Abruptly Alfred stiffened, and Arthur could feel Alfred's legs trembling where they were pressed against his own, and feel the hot liquid running down his own thighs. Another swipe of Alfred's thumb over the head of his cock, and Arthur was also gone, a white sheet of pleasure tightening through his entire body as he came all over the glass of his own conference room.

As abruptly as it had happened, all the energy went out of Arthur and he slumped against the glass wall, only kept upright by Alfred's arms that were still wrapped around him. He was breathing hard, and his heart was going a mile a minute, and suddenly Arthur knew very well what that drunken night must have been like and why it had been plaguing his dreams all week long.

Arthur had left sweaty handprints and come all over his walls and probably floor too, and it would all be a chore to clean up later, but for now, he simply felt boneless and sated. So instead, he allowed Alfred to maneuver him back around so Alfred could kiss him again, slower and oddly sweet this time. Arthur didn't want sweet.

He let Alfred have his kiss and then straightened up, frowning at the smeared glass and mess they'd made. Alfred was looking at him with a sort of awed expression, even though Alfred was also in a state of similar disarray, his hair messy and tousled, and his shirt half unbuttoned, and like this, Arthur found he didn't mind Alfred's sloppy appearance at all.

It was all Arthur could do not to kiss him again, but he reminded himself that this had all been for a purpose. Arthur pulled up his trousers instead and found the box of tissue that Angelique kept at the front desk. He came back to where Alfred was still standing and staring at him, and handed him the box after pulling out a few for himself.

Arthur took deep breaths until he was sure he could talk properly again. "Would you do me a favour, Jones?" he asked and it sounded a lot more composed than he felt.

Alfred stopped zipping his trousers back up and shot Arthur a glance. "What kind of favor?"

Arthur gave a small shrug and walked back over to Alfred, sliding his hand up Alfred's chest to loop around his neck as Arthur pulled him down and pressed a slow, wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Let's settle the Vargas case out of court," he said quietly, leaning up to Alfred's ear and putting on his most convincing bedroom voice – not all too difficult consider how out of breath and raw Arthur still felt. "I want to bargain."

He felt Alfred stiffen under his hand, but all he did was back up a little so he could look at Arthur. Arthur felt slightly uncomfortable under the scrutinizing stare, but he steeled himself and met Alfred's glance. There was no reason for him to feel guilty. He'd simply done what was necessary to deal get what he wanted.

Then Alfred sighed and gave Arthur an amused grin. "You really will do anything to win, won't you?" he said. It was said in that admiring tone of voice, but Arthur stiffened up and backed away, grabbing the box of tissues and pulling a few viciously out. So what if he wanted to win? It wasn't like Alfred F. Jones had any right to judge him. "What if I refuse?"

"I could sue you for rape," Arthur said, dropping the tissues on the evidence they'd left on the floor.

Alfred began to laugh. "Rape?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "I'm pretty sure what we just did was entirely consensual. If anyone was coming onto anyone, you were the one who kissed me first."

"Not just now. Last week," Arthur said as he began to clean up the mess. "We had sex, didn't we?"

Alfred went silent. Smart boy, he wasn't going to admit to anything that might convict him now that he knew the angle Arthur was aiming for.

"We did," Arthur said. "I haven't washed my sheets since then, and I'm sure your DNA will be on it," he lied. The sheets were washed and folded and stacked neatly in his closet.

"That was consensual too," Alfred said finally, but he sounded wary. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who kissed me first both times."

"Last time I was also completely drunk, and if I wasn't in my right mind, it can very well be considered rape," Arthur said in the same conversational tone of voice. He felt annoyingly guilty about it all even though this wasn't the first time he'd used blackmail to win a case. It probably wouldn't be the last either.

"Francis—"

"Francis and anyone else in that bar can testify to how drunk I was," Arthur cut him off before he could say anything more. "I'm sure the bartender might even know just how many drinks I had."

Alfred stopped talking.

When Arthur finished wiping the glass and floor clean and turned around again, Alfred was looking at him, eyes narrowed and all previous good humour gone. Arthur hated the way Alfred seemed to always be accusing him even when he wasn't saying it out loud. There was nothing wrong with the way Arthur did things if it got him what he needed. He forced himself to look up and met Alfred's accusatory stare, no matter how uncomfortable and angry it made him.

After a moment, Alfred exhaled and shot a wry grin at Arthur. "You win. Let's talk business."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC? And the dirty sex starts 8D<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** Cuba = Juan Machado

* * *

><p>Alfred was by no means easily dealt with despite Arthur having the upper hand. Arthur was the one with the blackmail and leverage, but it still took an hour of negotiations before they finally agreed to a plea bargain for the Vargas brothers.<p>

"This is really what you want to do?" Alfred said as they wrapped up the deal.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, distracted and still mildly annoyed that negotiations hadn't gone quite as well as he'd hoped considering the leverage he had. Alfred was surprisingly stubborn despite Arthur having all the proof to get him convicted for rape if he chose. Then again, Alfred and Arthur were both fully aware that Arthur didn't want to bring that particular incident to court either considering they'd slept together not once, but twice now – and the second time was unarguably consensual. It would be a messy case if Arthur wanted to pursue it, and Arthur had no intention of doing so at all even if Alfred hadn't agreed. He supposed he'd acted well enough that Alfred didn't want to chance the bluff, but Alfred certainly didn't make it easy.

"Bargaining this way," Alfred said, leaning back in his chair in the conference room.

Arthur's Chinese food had gone cold long ago though his paperwork was now stacked neatly on his side of the table so Alfred wouldn't keep poking into his confidential files. Alfred hadn't actually looked at anything, but just the opposition being so near Arthur's confidential notes made him nervous.

"You're the one who refused a plea," Arthur said as he made his last notes for their deal.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think you were going to go this low," Alfred answered and grinned.

Arthur pointedly ignored that particular blow to his integrity. "As much as I hate to admit it, the Vargases are more idiots than anything else. Regardless of their crimes, they didn't deserve that much time in jail," Arthur said, straightening up. He was exhausted after such a long day, and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep now that the deal for the Vargases had finally been concluded. "In any case, you may leave now," he said, dismissing Alfred.

"It's not official yet," Alfred said, only leaning back more in his chair and smiling, looking pleased with himself despite having more or less lost to Arthur this time around. In fact, Alfred was taking this all a lot better than Arthur had expected for someone who was a self-proclaimed vigilante of justice.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"Seal the deal, Arthur," Alfred said and grinned wider. "With a kiss."

Arthur stopped and stared at him. "You're not serious," he said.

Alfred just grinned wider. "If this is the way you want to play it, then yes, I very much am serious. Kiss me," he said.

Arthur glared at him, but Alfred didn't budge from his seat and it didn't look like he would unless Arthur did as he wanted, so finally, Arthur got up and walked over to the other side of the table. He bent over, feeling awkward, and then pressed a quick peck to Alfred's lips.

Arthur half expected to be pulled into a longer, more satisfying kiss, and he would have even welcomed it, but when he pulled back, all Alfred did was beam at him.

Alfred got to his feet, straightening up his shirt, and tossing his suit jacket over one arm as he headed for the glass door of the conference room.

"By the way," Alfred said as he got to the door. "You're right about the Vargas brothers this time, you know. They're not really bad guys, just a bit mislead. I wasn't going to make them out to be complete villains in court," he said.

"What?" Arthur said, not liking what Alfred seemed to be implying.

"This was probably the sentence they were going to get anyway." Alfred grinned. "Even if we didn't have sex." Then he gave Arthur a casual salute and pulled the glass door shut behind him.

Arthur was left staring open-mouthed at Alfred as he disappeared behind the divider, and by the time Arthur opened the conference room door to chase after Alfred, the man had already left the building.

Arthur let out a stream of curses.

"That goddamn fucking twat, he played me!" Arthur shouted at no one in particular as he vehemently locked the door and then went to clean everything up.

Damn Alfred. Just who was he to demand Arthur be honest when he was just as sneaky, if not sneakier and more cunning than Arthur was. He'd tricked Arthur into sleeping with him. Twice no less. All right, so the second time wasn't entirely Alfred's fault. The first time probably wasn't either. But still, this was completely taking advantage of Arthur's good nature even if all right, Arthur had maybe enjoyed both times more than he should have. But just the principle of it all – he could have gotten the same thing even if he didn't deal with Alfred this way, and the worst part was, it had felt so good that Arthur couldn't even completely regret having done it.

He sprayed the entire room with air freshener and then stomped up the stairs to get some sleep. And despite being exhausted both physically and mentally, it still took Arthur awhile to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>That was how it all more or less began.<p>

Arthur didn't expect for anything more to come of his two-time indiscretion with Alfred F. Jones. As far as he was concerned, he'd gotten what he wanted out of Alfred. The boy certainly wasn't nearly as innocently idealistic as he'd originally thought, and certainly, now that he'd slept with Alfred and gotten it out of his system and also won the plea bargain for the Vargas brothers, he was satisfied and eager to get on with his life as usual.

And things started out just fine in the following days. He had a few smaller pieces of business and some advising with a few clients, paperwork to take care of, and so on. Then on Wednesday of the following week, a rich new client – an American-born Korean celebrity – came in, looking to defend against charges of sexual harassment and at the same time, wanted Arthur to help him sue for libel which promised to be a well-publicized, well-paid lawsuit.

Arthur didn't see Alfred at all for nearly two weeks until he had to visit the courthouse for some paperwork on a Thursday over two weeks later. In fact, Arthur was hunched over a big book of courthouse records in the record room when he felt an arm sling around his shoulder.

"Hey, Arthur."

Arthur froze at the voice by his ear, remembering in an abrupt flash, Alfred's voice, hoarse and hot that night two weeks ago. He went red. "J-Jones," Arthur said, and elbowed him as hard as he could.

Alfred let out a small grunt as his hold loosened, and then Arthur was staring at Alfred's grinning face. "What're you doing?" Alfred asked.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Arthur said and turned back to his records, determined to ignore Alfred. He'd done what he wanted with Alfred, the case was over with, Alfred now meant nothing to Arthur and it was going to stay that way.

"Could very well be," Alfred said, stepping a little closer to him. He appeared to be bouncing back and forth on his toes like a little kid instead of the twenty some year old that he was.

Arthur shot him a suspicious look. "Just what is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Alfred bounced a little more. "Want to get coffee?" he asked and beamed at Arthur.

Arthur thought about the last time he'd tasted coffee and swallowed. "I hate coffee, Jones," he said. "I've already told you."

"Dinner then?" Alfred asked, utterly unperturbed.

"I have no intention of going anywhere with you, _ever_," Arthur said because obviously, subtlety was not going to get through Alfred F. Jones's stubbornly thick skull.

Alfred actually had the gall to pout. There was no trace of the cunning lawyer Arthur had slept with just two weeks ago. Alfred was an utter anomaly – on one hand going on about his stupid ideals and justice and acting like a bloody five-year-old child, and on the other hand, being incredibly underhanded and smart. Arthur simply did not understand it. "Why not?" Alfred asked.

"Jones," Arthur said with faux patience as he lowered his voice. "That time was a business deal – you know that as well as I do. It will never happen again."

"And the time before?" Alfred asked, still seemingly undiscouraged. Arthur was beginning to wonder just how harsh a rejection Alfred needed before he realized he was actually being rejected. Then again, a guy with Alfred's prospects probably wasn't rejected very often.

"I was drunk," Arthur said. "I didn't even know who was in my bed until I woke up with you," he said dryly. Alfred looked like he was about to protest so Arthur cut him off before he could. "No, Jones. I'm busy, now go away."

Alfred gave a sigh, and to Arthur's surprise, he actually listened this time. "See you around then, Arthur," he said with a casual wave, and then he was gone.

Arthur half expected Alfred to be just a little more persistent about the whole thing, or possibly to come back with coffee anyway like he had the time before, but even though he found himself staying in the records room for an hour even after he had everything he needed, Alfred didn't come back.

Arthur left the courthouse somewhat annoyed with himself for having waited at all. He didn't want to see Alfred, he didn't want to sleep with him again no matter how good it had been, and he most certainly did not want to deal with Alfred at all in court or out of it. He also had no intention of looking too closely at why exactly he felt so antsy when he was around Alfred. He was just happy that Alfred hadn't bothered him more, Arthur firmly told himself.

Still, Arthur felt a small thrill when he showed up a few days later for a preliminary hearing and found Alfred grinning at him from down the hallway. When they walked into the courtroom together, it was crowded, and Arthur felt Alfred press close to him – too close to entirely justify it – and he was sure he wasn't imagining Alfred's hand brush along his waist, guiding him into the courtroom.

"How are you doing?" Alfred asked as they went inside, voice a little too low and walking a little too close to be completely just friendly polite conversation.

"Fine," Arthur said and felt his face heat up – curses to his English complexion. He only managed to get his heart back into working order when the first debates began about whether or not there was sufficient proof to warrant a trial at all – Alfred won, and it only made Arthur more upset at himself for getting flustered over Alfred when it meant that he was losing to him.

"So lunch?" Alfred asked when they walked out of the courtroom again.

"Fuck you, Jones," Arthur said, glaring at him, and all but stomped out of the courtroom.

The thing was, Alfred wasn't like what Arthur expected him to be. Arthur had been flirted with before – he knew he wasn't the most attractive man on the planet, but he was decent looking even though he couldn't seem to hold down any relationships – all his lovers growing tired of him any time they started spending time with him out of the bedroom. Arthur knew himself, he wasn't exactly the most pleasant person – he had a jealous personality, a bad temper when provoked, and he was a little too easily provoked. It wasn't that Arthur had never wanted a relationship either but between work and just how tedious keeping up an actual relationship was, he would rather not get attached to someone who would probably leave sooner or later anyway.

So Arthur had certainly been flirted with, and asked out sometimes even, but this was the first time that Arthur had ever had someone persistently do so when 1.) they had already slept together and twice even, and 2.) Alfred knew exactly what Arthur was like first hand.

Arthur had used Alfred to get what he wanted, and still, Alfred seemed unperturbed. Worse, Arthur knew just how good Alfred was and he was exactly the sort of man with the type of physique that was Arthur's ideal so he couldn't entirely deny he wouldn't mind sleeping with Alfred again. The oddest part of all was that Arthur felt somewhat flattered, even slightly happy, that Alfred was interested in him. Alfred was quickly becoming popular and well known in the legal world, and Arthur knew that if he joined a firm and continued his streak of success as a prosecutor, or even simply continued on his current path, Alfred could become very big indeed.

It meant that whatever Arthur said to Alfred, he found himself unconsciously turning towards him when they were in the same room which happened uncomfortably often. And when they met, Alfred would stand too close to him, hands just barely brushing. Or lean in to talk to him just a little too close so that Arthur could feel Alfred's breath on his cheek. And every time, Alfred persistently asked him out for coffee, or asked if he was defending the guilty client yet again, or worse, both.

It was all getting Arthur more worked up than he ever wanted to be.

And then he found out that Alfred was taking the prosecution for the Korean harassment case.

* * *

><p>"How on earth did you find out Alfred F. Jones is the prosecution for your case?" Arthur asked, frowning at Yong Soo Im – the nineteen year old Korean pop singer who lounged in the chair in front of him.<p>

Yong Soo grinned. "I'm the inventor of informed," he said. "I got my ways."

Arthur sighed and massaged his forehead again as he tried to figure out just what to do with his new client. Frankly, dealing with Yong Soo Im was a headache all by itself. Not only was Yong Soo a teenager – albeit, a _legal_ teenager which made things all that much more difficult – but he was also a celebrity – albeit, only in Korea, but this case would get plenty of attention with the dual-citizenship Korean-American. And not only that, but Yong Soo's personality was obnoxious – Arthur had never had to deal with a client who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes before he started walking all around the room and touching things or updating his twitter. If it didn't promise to be such a well-paid, well-publicized case, Arthur wouldn't have taken it at all.

And now Alfred F. Jones was going to be on the case which meant this wasn't going to be easy.

"What exactly did you say you did?" Arthur asked which was more or less what he tried to get Yong Soo to say every time they'd met so far, but the Korean was something of a compulsive exaggerator and Arthur was sure that at least half of what came out of his mouth had to be taken with a grain of salt. They'd been going through Yong Soo's account of things for two hours this time around, and Arthur was finally feeling like he was getting somewhere.

"I just—"

"The _complete_ truth," Arthur said and gestured for him to go on.

Yong Soo grinned, looking too happy for Arthur to trust it was the complete truth yet again. "I just said that her breasts belong to me," he said. "You know, the catch line on my last show."

"And you touched her," Arthur said.

Yong Soo squirmed a little. "Well that was on the show too – she even said she watched it before so she should know."

Arthur massaged his forehead again. Yong Soo had been running some sort of Korean comedy talk show a few months ago that was surprisingly popular for how stupid it was – Arthur had watched a few episodes of it just to see what he was dealing with. One of Yong Soo's supposed catch phrases on the show was to grab at the chests of random people and declare that their breasts were his – Arthur was _never_ going to understand Asian humour. It had been a rather popular show and in this particular case, it seemed that Yong Soo had attempted to use it as a pickup line on some girl he'd been working with at a dance studio where he was learning the newest moves for some future music video. The problem was that despite knowing about his show, the girl had definitely _not_ appreciated being groped or having those things said to her and was now suing for sexual harassment.

"She laughed when I did it to Yao," Yong Soo said, looking a bit put out.

"That's the other big problem here," Arthur said. "Yao has volunteered to be a witness against you."

Yao Wang was media mogul in Asia who had apparently scouted Yong Soo and started off his career. Despite all that, he couldn't stand the young Korean celebrity – possibly because Yong Soo had groped him and his chest a few times too many – and also because Yong Soo had abandoned Yao's company in favor of some Korea-based one. As soon as he'd heard that Yong Soo was getting sued, Yao had jumped right on board with the girl and volunteered to come out as a witness against him. It seemed Yao had just been waiting for an opportunity to get at Yong Soo.

It meant that along with the girl's charges for sexual harassment and Yao's testimony, it was going to be a tough case to defend against, and Yong Soo even wanted Arthur to help sue for libel after this.

"That's enough for now. Go home, I'll contact you if I need anything else," Arthur told Yong Soo and took a deep breath when he left the office.

Now that he knew that he was going to be facing Alfred, though, Arthur couldn't help wondering if maybe… just possibly if Alfred might be willing to bargain. As annoying as Alfred could be, if he could at least get Yao off the witness stand, he might have a better chance of arguing the case. Not that Arthur _wanted_ to deal with Alfred any more than he had to. But he still found himself anticipating the next time he could get an opportunity to talk to Alfred.

* * *

><p>Despite planning on calling Alfred to discuss the case, Arthur couldn't actually bring himself to do it. He didn't want to hear Alfred accusing him of manipulating the system or of defending someone guilty. He also didn't want to think about how Alfred might actually not want to sleep with him again considering what Arthur had tricked him into last time, and Arthur was also not very good at dealing with rejection. So Arthur kept putting it off until he had resigned himself to having to battle things out with Alfred in court without any sort of leverage.<p>

And then Alfred showed up at Arthur's office just two days before the pre-trial motions for Yong Soo's case.

Arthur was preparing the last of his arguments for getting Yao Wang off the witness stand and trying to anticipate what Alfred would argue and say to keep him there because undoubtedly, Alfred would be coming up with a spectacular argument to keep Yao Wang as a witness – when the door to the offices opened and he heard Angelique greeting someone up front.

He was busy enough cramming that he'd left everything he could to Angelique and Horace, so he didn't expect his private office doors to be pushed open a moment later.

"I said I was busy, Angelique," Arthur said absently as he poured over his notes, making revisions as he went.

After the pre-trials, they'd go on to the real trial soon after. In this case, although he'd normally urge Yong Soo to just settle out of court, Yong Soo also intended to sue for libel which meant that the better strategy would be for Arthur to win the case against sexual harassment so that Yong Soo would actually have a leg to stand on when they tried to sue for libel. It was a huge headache altogether as libel cases always were – it was near impossible to argue whether or not something was actually slander.

"Hey, Arthur."

Arthur froze at the voice and looked up. "Jones—" he said, completely surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Alfred was standing in front of him, wearing a normal business suit and holding two coffee cups – one which he held out to Arthur. "Got you a mocha this time," he said with his customary grin.

"That's still coffee," Arthur said, cautiously watching him, but he reached out and took the proffered cup. "What do you want?" he asked. Involuntarily, he found himself thinking of the last time Alfred had walked into his offices and what had happened out by the conference room.

"Hey, Arthur," Angelique said, poking her head in his office door. "We're going to be heading out soon. Do you need us to stay?" she asked, looking over at Alfred who grinned at her. She gave Alfred a hesitant smile.

"We'll be fine," Arthur said. "Go on ahead." He'd been working late the last couple of nights too, so all Angelique did was nod before going back to her front desk to pack up.

"Well, we're on the same case again," Alfred said once she was gone. "I just came to see if you want to settle out of court."

Arthur wondered if Alfred was implying what he thought Alfred might be implying, or if this was all just his private, wishful thinking. While under normal circumstances, Alfred probably wasn't supposed to be working on this case at all, it seemed that for whatever reason, instead of hiring a private firm to help her sue Yong Soo, their opponent had gone to the district attorney's office and through whatever channels, had ended up assigned to Alfred. Arthur was part curious about just what had happened there, but he also didn't want to seem interested in Alfred's life or work or anything, so he didn't ask.

"Sorry, not this time," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair as he took a sip of the mocha which was far too sweet. He grimaced. "Yong Soo wants to go all the way to court and I'm going to win this." He put the coffee cup down and looked steadily at Alfred.

Through the glass walls of his office, he could see that Angelique was putting on her coat, getting ready to leave, and Horace was putting the lights out one-by-one, leaving only the late afternoon sunlight lighting the offices.

"Are you going to put Yao Wang on the stand?" Arthur asked.

Alfred grinned, perching on the end of Arthur's desk. "You know about him? Of course I am," he said. "He's a great witness against Yong Soo Im."

"He's completely biased," Arthur said, frowning, although he'd already expected this. If he had a witness as good as Yao Wang, he'd have used him too no matter how biased he might be.

Outside, Horace and Angelique both left through the front, locking the door behind them and now with all the shutters down on the windows, there was only the last of the afternoon sunlight coming through the window shutters, casting warm red slits of light on the carpet.

"Yes, but that's because Yong Soo did the same to him before," Alfred said.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You like playing the hero, but you're really not out for justice, are you?" he said.

He knew he hit a nerve when Alfred's eyes flashed and he abruptly looked less amused as he got up and headed out of the office door. "I'll see you Thursday in court then," he said.

Alfred walked rapidly down the corridors for the front lobby, only stopping to throw away his paper coffee cup. And as Arthur watched his retreating back through the glass dividers, he found himself in a state of panic and he wasn't even sure why because he definitely did not want to cut a deal with someone like Alfred no matter how advantageous it might be, and he definitely did not want to sleep with him again or taste the coffee on his mouth, hear his breathing heavy by Arthur's ear, feel the tremble of his thigh between Arthur's when he was holding them up.

Arthur swallowed hard. None of it, he told himself.

He sprang out of his chair and sprinted down the short hallway to the front lobby, grabbing Alfred by the back of his suit coat right before he reached the door.

"What—" Alfred managed to say just before Arthur pushed him against the nearest wall – which happened to be one of the long, Venetian blinded windows along the front of the office building – and pressed his mouth against Alfred's.

As soon as it happened, all of the memories of that night came rushing right back. Arthur could feel Alfred's lips, dry and firm against his, and for a moment, Arthur was terrified that Alfred wouldn't want this – would push him away, maybe laugh at him, tell him that Alfred wasn't about to be tricked again. But a moment later, Alfred's arms came up to wrap around Arthur, and suddenly it was Arthur who was being pushed against the Venetian blinds, the thin metal slats crinkling under his weight, flattened against the glass window, as Alfred kissed him back.

He was already tugging Arthur's collar shirt loose to slip strong, warm fingers up his side, and Arthur gasped, trying to get Alfred's suit coat off so he could get at more skin. He ended up flipping their positions again, pushing Alfred up against the blinds in another crackle, sending the red sunlight whirling in mad patterns off the carpet as they alternately tried to undress and still keep kissing each other.

"I thought you didn't want to do this," Alfred said with a breathless laugh as Arthur was kissing a trail down his neck.

"Shut up," Arthur said. He was already gone enough that he didn't intend to stop, even if this _didn't_ turn into a business deal though he'd do his best on that front – and he pulled Alfred's shirt collar open and bit down at the base of his neck, effectively eliciting a hiss from Alfred and shutting him up at the same time.

Arthur felt Alfred's hands travel down his back to slip into the waist of his loosened trousers before creeping lower, and his breath hitched.

"Jones, I—"

Alfred flipped them around again so that Arthur was pressed back against the Venetian blinds as Alfred bit at his lips and tried to fumble his trousers off at the same time.

They were making a racket, the thin aluminum blinds crinkling against each other every time one of them was pressed against the windows again. Arthur didn't realize just how bad it might look from the outside, though, until a sudden loud knock came at the window right next to Arthur's ear. He jumped and froze.

"Is everything all right in there?" a man's voice came from the outside.

Alfred quickly backed off of Arthur though he stayed close enough, his hands still loose at Arthur's waist although he'd gone rather red in the face. "We're fine, dude!" Alfred shouted and laughed, so openly amused that Arthur couldn't help returning the smile.

It had killed the mood just a little to be caught like that, but before Arthur could shove Alfred off and dismiss the entire thing as an accident, Alfred was tugging Arthur forward and kissing him again. "Let's move this elsewhere?" Alfred murmured, tugging at Arthur's bottom lip with his teeth and then pressing small kisses to his mouth that left Arthur aching for more.

It was amazing how quickly Alfred could recover the mood after that embarrassing incident, and Arthur was inwardly astonished at how he didn't even fight it very much, but gave a small sigh, tugging at Alfred's belt loops. "Upstairs," he said, giving in.

He tried to back away from Alfred so they could go up the back stairs to Arthur's loft, but Alfred wouldn't let him go. Instead, every time Arthur tried to get a little distance between them, Alfred would follow him closer or tug Arthur back so he could feel just how hard Alfred was through his trousers. Alfred kept kissing the back of Arthur's neck, and running his hands down Arthur's sides, which was, in turn, making Arthur hard at a speed that hadn't happened since he was sixteen.

"Could you just let go of me long enough for us to get to the actual bed?" Arthur said, trying to push Alfred's hands away although it was a rather half-hearted effort.

"Where's the fun in that?" Alfred said and Arthur could feel Alfred's mouth turned up in a grin against the back of Arthur's neck where he was pressed.

"Jones," Arthur said in as threatening of a tone he could manage which was not very when Alfred was rubbing him through his trousers.

"All right, all right," Alfred said and did absolutely nothing to back away from Arthur as they fumbled their way up the stairs.

It was probably embarrassing how fast it took Arthur to come when they finally made it to his bed. He didn't even manage to get his trousers off before Alfred humped him so far into the mattress that Arthur was convinced there might be a permanent dent in it after this, and when he came, legs hooked tight around Alfred's hips, Arthur just lay there, trembling in the afterglow and stunned at how quickly it had happened. He was left breathless, feeling somewhat like he'd just been through a whirlwind, and finding it a bit difficult to think about anything at all even though he still had to conclude things with Alfred.

Alfred was inordinately heavy when he went boneless on top of Arthur, but since Arthur was still trying to just recover his breath, his arms wrapped loosely around Alfred's back, he let Alfred stay that way.

"Alfred," Arthur said when he'd gotten his breath sufficiently under control again. He had to make the deal now – this was just business, he reminded himself. "Don't put Yao Wang on the stand."

"Mm…" Alfred said, clearly on his way to sleep.

Arthur shook him on the shoulder. "Alfred, did you hear me? Don't put Yao on the witness stand for the Yong Soo Im case."

He pushed until he managed to heave Alfred off of him and tip him over onto the bed next to him. Alfred let out a small grunt at the disturbance.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Arthur said.

Next to him, Alfred's breathing was even and all he did was tighten the arm still slung around Arthur's waist.

Arthur sighed, but he felt tired enough that he didn't want to work up the energy to push Alfred out of bed. Just this once, he told himself as he let his eyes drift shut as well, and then he was asleep.

* * *

><p>When Arthur woke again, he felt relaxed but a bit uncomfortable – the sort that came with sleeping with all your clothes on, and when he came awake enough to register just what had woken him, he realized that it was actually Alfred's arm, wrapped around Arthur, that was tracing absent circles against his ribs.<p>

Arthur squirmed a little, slapping at Alfred's hand, and trying to go back to sleep, but then he heard Alfred chuckle right by his ear and move his hips where they were spooned together.

"Awake?" Alfred asked.

It was still completely dark and when Arthur squinted at the digital clock set by his bed, he saw that it was five in the morning which was entirely too early to be awake, but then again, they'd tumbled into bed rather early last night.

Arthur sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Yes. And if you are, then you can leave now," he told Alfred.

Instead, Alfred's hand traced down his ribs, fumbling with the zip on Arthur's trousers, and then slipped down inside, making Arthur realize that he had a morning wood – and so did Alfred who had begun rubbing against Arthur's arse and it was quickly waking Arthur up which Arthur did not want to do at the moment. In fact, he was perfectly happy and comfortable being asleep, but his erection was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore when Alfred's hand closed around it, giving him a few light strokes, and Arthur was starting to feel the beginnings of that desperation he'd felt last night.

He gave a shuddering sigh. "Stop that," Arthur said, tugging half-heartedly at Alfred's arm, but all Alfred did was tighten his grip a little more and kiss the sensitive skin behind Arthur's ear.

"It's still early, you don't have to work yet," Alfred said, that hint of mischievousness underlying his voice even at this time of morning.

"Yes I do, actually," Arthur said as he finally worked up the willpower to push out of Alfred's arms and leave his comfortable bed. "I didn't get half the amount of work I should have gotten done last night thanks to you," he said. He stripped out of his day-old clothes to toss in the hamper, grimacing at his dirtied briefs before he pulled on his favorite green robe so he wouldn't be completely naked.

He had to get back to business now, Arthur told himself. Letting Alfred spend the night was already too intimate for their non-relationship and shouldn't have happened. He was not going to get involved with Alfred F. Jones.

"And you do too now that Yao isn't going to be your witness," Arthur said as he headed for his shower.

"What?" Alfred asked.

Arthur looked back at the bed where Alfred was still lounging but looking considerably more confused now. The expression was rather out of place on Alfred's face since he always seemed so confident, but it also made Alfred look rather boyish and, as much as Arthur did not like to admit it, cute.

"You agreed last night, remember? I asked you to take Yao Wang off the witness stand because he's biased, and you said all right," Arthur said.

"What? I don't remember saying that…" Alfred trailed off when Arthur walked forward again.

Although Arthur had certainly enjoyed last night, he also had no intentions of letting Alfred get out of the deal if he could help it.

The short green robe that Arthur was wearing was made of fine silk and he had it on good authority that it complimented his eyes. Most of the time, Arthur just liked the robe because well, it was silk and very, very comfortable. Now though, and more importantly, the robe was made of loose, sheer material and it was also short, ending at mid-thigh on Arthur. All he had to do was hike up onto the bed with one knee and the robe slid smoothly away, revealing more skin than Arthur really wanted to be showing in front of Alfred, but definitely enough to serve its purpose.

"Yes you did," Arthur said.

He could tell the distraction was working because Alfred's eyes were definitely glued where Arthur wanted them to be.

"Um…" Alfred said.

Arthur grinned and leaned forward to kiss Alfred, feeling Alfred's hand run up his waist, and then back down again though Arthur quickly grabbed it before Alfred could slip a finger under his robe.

Arthur drew back again and licked his lips. "Work," he said, and then left for the shower before Alfred could recover. He wasn't entirely sure that once Alfred did, he wouldn't go back on his agreement since it was, after all, rather one-sided. But then, Alfred liked to pretend he was some hero so Arthur was hoping that it would mean Alfred wouldn't break any promises.

In any case, Alfred was gone by the time Arthur came out of the shower again.

* * *

><p>It really did work even though Arthur had been half anticipating that it wouldn't. Throughout the trial, Alfred never once called for Yao Wang as a witness although it turned out that no matter how Arthur tried to argue it, at the end, sexual harassment was sexual harassment regardless of what excuses were used to justify it. He did, however, get Yong Soo Im a much less severe sentence that mostly involved paying a large fine, and he also managed to explain all the circumstances around the lawsuit which was what Yong Soo had really wanted to maintain his reputation.<p>

"Now we'll sue for libel," Yong Soo said, beaming from ear to ear at Arthur as he shook his hand and then waved for the hoard of reporters who had showed up.

"Mr. Im, so how do you feel about your sentence?" a reporter was already shoving her microphone at Yong Soo.

"Is it true you are going to sue for libel?" another was asking.

"Do you intend to go back to Korea now?" another said.

Arthur let Yong Soo and his many PA's deal with the reporters – most of whom were much more eager to get a word in with the young celebrity than to bother with Arthur though Arthur anticipated getting a few calls later on once Yong Soo had said his piece.

Instead, he found himself pushed back until he was standing by Alfred who was watching his own client trying to fight past a hoard of reporters all asking about her and her relationship with Yong Soo and how she felt about his sentence.

"I didn't think you would really do it," Arthur commented. He felt he should be at least civil to Alfred for letting Arthur get away with not putting Yao Wang on the stand. He was also feeling much more magnanimous toward him now that Arthur had done everything he'd set out to do for this particular lawsuit.

Alfred was still watching the commotion up at the far end of the courtroom, but he gave Arthur a lopsided grin. "Hey, I'm a hero. I don't go back on my word," he said.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, that and I know Yao Wang was completely biased for this case," Alfred said and met Arthur's eyes this time, grinning wider. "You know I actually wasn't going to call him as a witness – it would only make my argument weak when you called him out on it."

Arthur wasn't sure if he was more annoyed or pleased with this new piece of information.

He felt a touch on his hand, and stiffened when he realized it was Alfred – not really holding hands, but just running his fingers against Arthur's, brushing the pads of his hands, and it was intimate enough that it made Arthur take a quick step away from Alfred.

"Are you insane? We're in public," Arthur hissed. They were in front of a hoard of reporters no less, even though no one was paying much attention to the two lawyers just yet.

Alfred grinned at him. "Does that mean you don't mind if it's in private?"

"Fuck you, Jones," Arthur said, glaring at him and grabbing his things before working his way out of the courtroom from the side.

And although Arthur told himself that he had absolutely no intention of getting involved with someone like Alfred F. Jones, he couldn't help thinking about those words. Even though Arthur certainly didn't intend to get into any sort of relationship, did that mean that Alfred was willing to? They hardly knew each other though and beyond a bit of casual small talk about work – most of which Alfred was completely infuriating for – they hardly said anything to each other at all. Arthur didn't know much about Alfred outside of his basic resume and he didn't particularly want to. Alfred was just someone Arthur had to deal with in court who also happened to have an annoying personality and was continuously pestering Arthur.

Still, he found himself wondering what case Alfred might be working on now that the Yong Soo defense was over and Arthur was going to work on his libel suit. He wondered if Alfred would ask him to dinner again or if he'd just show up at the office, and even found himself considering taking Alfred up on the offer if it came again.

Arthur found himself going to the courthouse for research far more often than he actually needed to go, and also found himself feeling oddly, annoyingly disappointed every time he left and still didn't see Alfred. A week passed that way and Arthur didn't realize how much he wanted to meet Alfred again – touch him, take him to bed, just feel Alfred's mouth on him again and run his hands over fit, tanned skin and hear Alfred's hoarse whispering to him when they were rutting into oblivion – until he found himself scrolling through his blackberry for Alfred's number.

For the record, Arthur had no idea when Alfred had put his number on Arthur's mobile. Arthur hadn't even noticed it until he was scrolling through the numbers a few days ago and found one that was named Captain Awesome. It had taken a bit of searching before he looked up Alfred F. Jones's number and compared it to find that yes, they were one and the same. He assumed that at some point, Alfred was the one who had done it because no one else would be calling him something like that.

He wondered if this meant Alfred wanted Arthur to call him and was more determined not to call him just because Alfred wanted him to. Then again, he now had a perfectly good reason to call and ask why Alfred had saved his number on his mobile.

Arthur scrolled past that number, and then back up to it.

This would all be a lot easier if Alfred would just call _him_. Not that Arthur wanted Alfred to call him.

He scrolled down to the number again, and then snapped his mobile shut in annoyance. He was not going to call Alfred.

Just then, his blackberry vibrated and rang so suddenly that Arthur jumped and nearly dropped it. He picked it up again, heart beating fast but when he looked down at the caller ID, it wasn't Captain Awesome calling, but an unknown number.

Arthur frowned. He didn't normally pick up unknown numbers, and any potential clients who didn't know his mobile number usually phoned the office so Angelique could schedule an appointment with them.

It might, though, be Alfred using a different phone. After all, Alfred had an office too and that number hadn't been saved on Arthur's blackberry. So against all better judgment, Arthur answered the call anyway.

"Arthur Kirkland speaking," Arthur said.

"Hello? Kirkland the lawyer?"

It was a gruff male voice with a vague Hispanic accent.

"Speaking," Arthur said, frowning. He didn't recognize it.

"This is Juan Machado. I have information for you about your client, Ivan," the man said. He was speaking quietly and with his soft accent, he was a bit difficult to understand.

"Ivan Braginsky?" Arthur asked, concerned now. "Has he done something?"

"You will be interested. I cannot say more now. I have sent you tickets for a meeting place to discuss."

"Wait, what—"

Arthur was left talking to the dial tone. He frowned at the mysterious call, although the name Juan Machado sounded familiar to him. He just couldn't remember where he'd heard it before or what kind of a connection this man had to Ivan Braginsky. He just hoped that Ivan hadn't gotten himself in some sort of horrible trouble that Arthur had to work and bail him out of again.

He spent the rest of the afternoon going through his stacks of case files about Ivan Braginsky, and it still took three hours before he finally found Juan Machado – a Cuban immigrant who was listed as a witness of one of the first cases Ivan Braginsky had been involved in long before he became a client of Arthur. It didn't say which case it was exactly that Juan Machado had worked on, but that it had occurred in London four years ago – at the time when Arthur's last case in England had been taking place.

Back when Ivan Braginsky had first signed on with Arthur as a client, he'd looked through all these files briefly but he'd never thought much of this mention of a past case since it wasn't even in the United States and so would have little effect on most of the cases Arthur had to deal with here.

Now, Arthur found himself wondering if there might be a reason why Ivan Braginsky had chosen Arthur as his attorney.

"Angelique," Arthur called, walking out of his office to the front desk.

"Yes?" Angelique asked, looking up at him from her seat.

"Have you received anything from a Juan Machado?" he asked.

Angelique shook her head. "Are you expecting something?"

Arthur considered it. Did he really want to dig into something considering Ivan Braginsky when Ivan hadn't contacted him about a new case and this was all based on an old witness? Most likely, the entire thing involving London was just a coincidence that had nothing to do with Arthur and his past, but he knew that if there was just the slightest chance it _did_ have something to do with that old case, Arthur had to know.

"Yes," Arthur said. "As soon as you get anything from Juan Machado, I want you to tell me."

Angelique nodded.

A week later, a plain business envelope came with no return address but marked from a J.M. Inside it was a ticket and brochure to the Rio de Oro resort in Holquin, Cuba.

A note stuck on the brochure said:

_Have a nice vacation. I will meet you there._

It looked like Arthur was going to Cuba.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC?<strong>

I should just clarify now – this is probably really inaccurate lawyering in this fic because while I do some research before I write, I am also taking a lot of creative liberties as I'm sure the premise gives away right from the start, so no, this is not meant to be realistic – it's just meant to be fun. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Cuba was miserably humid when Arthur arrived, and he was reminded once again why he liked staying in the nice, climate-controlled indoors. The taxi he'd gotten didn't even have air conditioning and the windows had been rolled down instead which didn't help at all. It was making Arthur's hair a worse mess than usual, and he could feel the sun hot on his arm even through his shirt.

Arthur pulled his tie a little looser and cursed. If he didn't need to look professional, he would have changed into something more comfortable, but Arthur made it a policy to dress appropriately if he was meeting someone related to work. Now he was seriously rethinking that position – maybe Alfred and his stupid hamburger ties and T-shirts had something going there after all if it meant he could dress like a comfortable bloody teenager whenever he wanted. On top of it all, the taxi driver refused to turn off the horrible static-filled radio so Arthur couldn't even wallow in peace.

By the time they actually arrived at the resort, Arthur was sweaty, miserable, and in a foul mood. The resort itself seemed to be quite a nice one which only made Arthur feel marginally better – right by the pure blue ocean and with a rich clientele – plenty of attractive men and women in skimpy beachwear going in and out of the hotel.

"I have a reservation," Arthur said when he went up to the front desk, towing his travel suitcase behind him.

"What is your name, sir?" the concierge asked.

"Kirkland," Arthur said. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah yes, Mr. Kirkland. Reservation for a week in Room 2304," the concierge said, smiling as he gave Arthur a pair of electronic key cards. "That will be on the third floor. Elevators are to your left. Do you have any other questions?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Then I hope you have a pleasant stay with us," the concierge said with a polite smile.

Arthur just grabbed the keys and dragged his luggage with him for the elevator.

He began to feel a little less like he was going to get heatstroke now that he was in the air-conditioned lobby, and by the time he got to his room, he was considerably more comfortable. It wasn't exactly the nicest hotel he'd ever been in, but quite decent all things considering. The room was spacious with plenty of sun coming through the window. There was one double bed with patterned, green bedspread and five pillows. There was both a writing desk and a coffee table along with the normal dresser and television. His room had a balcony that overlooked several huge swimming pools that stretched right out to the ocean – it made for quite a few but also a lot of noise – the third floor wasn't nearly far enough away from the crowds. The mini-bar was stocked and Arthur helped himself to a bottle of water, stripping out of his clothes and leaving a trail right to the bathroom – eager to get to the shower.

By the time he got out of the shower, Arthur had decided that he didn't very well care what Juan Machado thought of the way he looked if he was expected to stay in this type of weather. Arthur dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and after unpacking his things, he looked around the room to see if Juan had left him any instructions.

He found a card left by the telephone – something picked up from the hotel gift shop judging by the cheesy picture of the resort with a Rio de Oro Hotel printed on it. Inside it was a simple message.

_I will meet you at the Mermaid's Lagoon Pool at 4:30 this afternoon._

Arthur groaned and flopped back onto the bed. It looked like he'd have to go down to the pools after all and deal with the crowds and noise. It was, however, a discreet meeting place – while crowds meant a lot of people who could potentially overhear a conversation, it also meant that they could easily blend in. Arthur had an hour before he had to be downstairs, so he spent the time going over the case files he'd brought with him. He still had Yong Soo's case to prepare for, and he had brought some of Ivan's old files to look through.

Time flew by when he was studying, and all too soon, Arthur had to leave the comfort of his air-conditioned room and go downstairs. The pools were easy enough to find and the Mermaid's Lagoon Pool was the biggest pool in the entire place that was stuffed with people – girls in bikinis that left nothing to the imagination flirting with men a shade of tan that was probably impossible to achieve in nature.

Arthur ordered himself a drink, found the largest unoccupied umbrella to camp out under, and then sat down on a beach chair and settled in to wait. He was staring vacantly at the pool when he heard the squeak of the chair next to him, and when Arthur turned, a man was settling into the chair.

"Juan Machado?" he asked.

"Arthur Kirkland," the other man said. He was heavy-set with a pile of dreadlocks he'd pulled back into a pigtail. He was wearing an old Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops and looked for all the world like another tourist except for his native accent.

"What did you want to meet me for?" Arthur asked, leaning back into his chair.

"Do I get attorney-client privilege?" Juan asked.

"You're not technically my client," Arthur said. "But I won't reveal an informant unless the court orders me to."

Juan exhaled and glanced over at Arthur. "You know about Braginsky's main business?"

"He lends money if that's what you mean," Arthur said.

"Yes, but do you know to who?" Juan said. He took a cigar out of his pocket and turned it around in his hands.

"Does it matter?" Arthur said.

"What if I told you he was involved in something big," Juan said. "Government level."

"I still don't see what that has to do with me," Arthur said.

"You're involved with someone from the DA's office, aren't you?" Juan said.

Arthur's blood went cold as he thought of Alfred, his brilliant smile, blue eyes, golden skin, the way he made Arthur feel. He swallowed hard. "Where did you hear that?" he said.

"Braginsky keeps an eye on his employees," Juan said. He handed Arthur a fat yellow envelope.

Arthur didn't look inside. "Why are you telling me any of this?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"I want to get out of Braginsky's business," Juan said and lit his cigar, taking a short smoke and exhaling. "I run a couple of operations here in Cuba – nothing big. I owed Braginsky some money and now I'm stuck paying him interest for the next thirty years if he can help it."

"Braginsky is my client. I'm not going to betray his trust," Arthur said. That was the most important code to being an attorney – more than right or wrong or guilty or innocent – it was the trust that clients gave to their lawyers. "And if you work under him, you'd probably do well not to either." Arthur had taken care of more than a few situations where someone had decided to try and get the better of Ivan Braginsky.

Juan gave him another glance. "There have been rumours. Things are about to get rough," he said. He glanced around again and got up. "Your room is booked for the week." He tapped the envelope Arthur was holding. "Think over what I said. There's more where that came from."

Then he disappeared back through the crowds again.

Arthur frowned and put down his cocktail to pick up the envelope in his lap. He wasn't sure if he wanted to open it and see what was inside. He picked up his drink again and took another sip, thinking over what Juan had said. What did he mean things were happening? Had Ivan gotten himself into something he shouldn't have again?

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, trying to think what to do. The proper thing would probably be to go and confront Ivan – as Ivan's attorney, it was Arthur's job to know what was going on so he could best defend Ivan when he needed it. On the other hand, if Ivan really was involved in something too big for Arthur to handle, he had the legal obligation of going to the proper authorities.

He was still thinking about it, the splashing from the pool and chatter of people all around him, when one particular voice caught his attention.

"Yeah, one whiskey on the rocks, thanks."

Arthur's eyes flew open and it only took one look at the outdoor bar to confirm that yes, that voice did belong to who he thought it did even though it ought to be impossible. Alfred F. Jones was standing by the bar in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, grinning at the barkeep.

Arthur was up on his feet before he had even really made the decision and he stalked over to Alfred. "Alfred F. Jones, you bloody stalker!"

Alfred started. "Arthur?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

Arthur saw red. "What am _I_ doing here? What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here? I can't believe you—you followed me all the way to Cuba!" He gripped the envelope a little tighter. If Alfred knew he'd met with Juan here…

It was one thing for Alfred to pester him back in New York where they worked the same profession in the same city and so running into each other so often wasn't all that strange. But following Arthur all the way out to an entirely different country – one that was even difficult to get the proper legal transportation into considering Cuban-American public relations weren't exactly friendly. Following Arthur on a private business trip where Arthur was discussing legal matters – this was taking it too far.

"Arthur, I had no idea you'd be here," Alfred said, raising his hands in surrender.

"Don't lie to me," Arthur said, slapping his hands away. "I can't believe you'd violate my privacy this way, you fucking wanker!"

"Arthur—Arthur, I _swear_ I didn't follow you," Alfred said, touching Arthur's shoulder. "I had no idea you'd be here."

Arthur found himself unwillingly meeting Alfred's eyes and either Alfred was far better than Arthur had thought, or he wasn't lying. "Then what the fuck are you doing here?" Arthur snapped and shook Alfred's hand off of him.

"Uh… business," Alfred said. "I'm meeting a client."

"Here?" Arthur said and narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Alfred gave him a grin. "Sorry, can't say."

Arthur wanted to ask him if it had to do with Juan Machado or Ivan Braginsky, but if he did, it'd be giving away his own cards which Arthur definitely knew he didn't want to do at the moment.

"If I find out you lied to me…" Arthur left the threat unspoken and turned to go back to the hotel, tucking the yellow envelope under his arm. Now that his business with Juan Machado was over, he'd make that Cuban book the next flight out of here.

"Hey wait," Alfred said, catching Arthur's arm so he nearly dropped his envelope. Arthur glared at him and smacked him in the arm hard. "I think you owe me an apology for that false accusation," Alfred said and gave him a tentative grin. "Buy me a drink?"

"In your bloody dreams," Arthur snapped. "I'm not even convinced you're not lying." In fact, at the moment, he'd prefer if Alfred _was_ lying because just the thought of Alfred also being involved in the whole mess that was Ivan and Juan Machado's business – that was more than Arthur wanted to deal with for any amount of money.

Alfred pouted. "I'll buy you a drink then?" he offered. "Come on, we're at a resort. Enjoy yourself… unless you're not done with your business?" He glanced at the envelope Arthur was still holding.

Arthur glared at Alfred. He'd given Arthur a perfectly good excuse to back out now and go back to his room, but as annoyed as he was with Alfred, his hand was still warm on Arthur's arm, and as much as he hated he was thinking about it, Arthur couldn't help noticing how Alfred was bloody tan _everywhere_ – made even more obvious by his severe lack of decent attire. And either Alfred had just gotten out of the pool or else he was very sweaty because he actually glistened and it was making it very hard for Arthur to pretend he didn't want to lick a stripe down Alfred's chest and run his hands all over those biceps.

"Buy me two drinks and I'll accept your apology," Arthur said.

"I didn't say I was apologizing," Alfred said, but he'd already slung his arm around Arthur's waist and was pulling him close, guiding him back to the bar. "Hey, a drink for my buddy here – what girly cocktail were you drinking?"

"A Hemingway Daiquiri is not bloody girly, you twat," Arthur snapped.

"A Hemingway," Alfred ordered, grinning at him and making no move to back away. He smelled like sunscreen and chlorine and he was too warm – just feeling him so close was making Arthur break out into sweat – but Arthur didn't want to move away either. Especially not when scantily-clad girls had been eyeing Alfred ever since Arthur had noticed Alfred there at all, and it made Arthur wonder if Alfred would have taken one of them – or one of the men if that was what he was into – up to his room if Arthur wasn't around. He wondered if Alfred might do it anyway even with him around.

Their drinks came and Alfred pulled Arthur toward the pool again. "Put your stuff down, let's go in," Alfred said.

"No thank you," Arthur said.

"What? We're at a resort, Arthur. You can't go to a beach resort and _not_ go in the water," he said.

"I'm not dressed for it," Arthur said which was true. He didn't realize the invitation until he saw Alfred openly eye his bare legs, and then he found himself heating up and wishing he'd covered up a little more. It was one thing for him to use his appearance to his advantage in the bedroom, it was a whole other thing for Alfred to ogle him in public. "Just go." Arthur said and shoved Alfred.

He'd really only intended to push Alfred aside, but he must have pushed harder than he'd wanted to because the next thing, Alfred was sputtering up from the pool, soaked through.

"Arthur… you just pushed me in the pool," Alfred said. Suddenly his smile looked a lot less amused and a lot more like a shark's grin.

Arthur managed to back up only one step before Alfred grabbed his ankles and tugged.

Arthur's shriek was cut off when his head went under. For a moment he couldn't breath and the water was clear blue, stinging his eyes. There were the distorted bodies of people all around him. He panicked, opening his mouth and seeing the stream of bubbles burst for the surface. Arthur had a brief flash of fear that he was going to die by drowning in a bloody stupid swimming pool and this was so not how he wanted to go. And then his foot brushed a hard surface and Arthur pushed, standing up and breaking the surface of the water to gasp for air. They were in a shallow end – not even five feet deep, Arthur thought vaguely as he grabbed the edge of the pool and just stood for a moment, breathing blessed fresh air.

Alfred didn't appear to notice Arthur's panic because he was laughing and apologizing to a few of the people who had been splashed in the process. At the moment, Arthur was too wobbly from panic to even care about anything than catching his breath and getting out of the blasted water. When he felt like he could move his limbs properly again, Arthur heaved himself out of the water, only dimly registering that he'd kept a hold of his envelope though he'd dropped his drink.

"Arthur?" Alfred said, looking confused as Arthur climbed out of the pool.

Arthur ignored him as he tried to dry off his wet envelope with his equally wet shirt. He began walking back to the hotel as fast as his wobbly legs could take him, wringing out his clothes as he did. It was a little secret that Arthur couldn't swim. He'd just never had the occasion or need to learn and never been particularly interested in it. Most of the time, he didn't even think of it much, but he avoided bodies of deep water if he could get away with it, and while he'd never really thought he had a phobia for water, he was pretty sure he did now. He was just lucky it had been in shallow enough water for him to stand.

"Arthur! Arthur, wait!" Alfred called behind him.

Arthur was beginning to feel angry now, bolstered by the humiliation and fear of nearly drowning. How _dare_ Alfred just pull him in like that. Of course Alfred didn't actually know Arthur couldn't swim, but he had nearly died! The angrier Arthur got, the steadier his legs felt, and he walked even faster. It wasn't enough that Alfred kept defeating Arthur in their trials. It wasn't enough that Alfred had followed Arthur all the way to Cuba. It wasn't enough that Arthur apparently couldn't keep his hands off of Alfred – but Alfred had nearly drowned him and in a bloody swimming pool.

"Arthur, come on, you're not really mad, are you?" Alfred said and Arthur heard him splash out of the pool, jogging to catch up with him.

Arthur pointedly ignored him.

"You pushed me in first," Alfred said, and when Arthur continued to ignore him, added, "Is it your clothes? A little chlorine isn't going to ruin them."

Arthur grabbed a towel from the carts on the way out of the pool area and began drying off the envelope as much as he could as he continued walking inside.

"Arthur, come on," Alfred said. "I'll make it up to you. I'll buy you dinner?"

Arthur ignored Alfred all the way through the lobby to the elevators that was now too air-conditioned in his wet state and Arthur wrapped the towel around his shoulders as he got into the elevators. "Go away," he told Alfred finally. His voice came out steady which was at least one blessing today.

"Why are you so mad?" Alfred asked.

Arthur glared at the wall, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

"Wait, are you hurt?" Alfred said, suddenly concerned as he reached out, feeling along Arthur's scalp. "Did you hit anything?"

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped, backing away and clutching the towel with one hand and the envelope in his other. He just hoped the contents of the envelope weren't too damaged.

"Is it the envelope?" Alfred said and when Arthur glanced at him this time, he really did look guilty. "Was it important?"

"You better hope not," Arthur said. "Go away."

The elevator stopped on the third floor and Alfred followed him out, ignoring Arthur's orders.

As Arthur's anger began to fade – it was impossible to stay mad at Alfred when he looked so genuinely worried about Arthur's well-being – the adrenaline gave way to exhaustion and Arthur suddenly felt a lot like just sitting down for a bit. It was a relief when he got to his room and went inside.

Alfred didn't bother waiting for an invitation as he followed Arthur inside.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" Alfred asked. "I'll have the hotel call an ambulance or something."

"I'm fine," Arthur said. Now that he didn't feel so much like panic or anger, he could get his priorities straight again, and the most important thing at the moment was getting that envelope open.

Arthur brought it over to the coffee table, but when he ripped open the wet paper, what fell out was a clump of ten or so photographs. Every single one was ruined – the ink running all over the glass table and smudging the more Arthur tried to separate the photos.

Arthur cursed and sat down in a chair, massaging his head. Juan Machado had said he had more of whatever these photos were, but Arthur would have to stay at the resort for however long it took to get them now.

"Hey, you okay?" Alfred asked.

"They're ruined," Arthur said and gestured to the running photos. "I'll never know what was on them." Just because he knew he could get copies, there was no reason to let Alfred get off the hook so easily.

Alfred winced. "Sorry," he said, looking genuinely apologetic.

Arthur sighed, too drained to even bring himself to care much anymore. "There's nothing to be done for it now."

"Do you want me to leave?"

Arthur looked up, a bit surprised at Alfred's quiet voice. Alfred was looking down at the photos, frowning, and Arthur suddenly felt bad even though it really had been Alfred's fault. He sighed. "No. There wasn't any film in that. I can probably get copies," he said, not entirely sure why he felt obligated to cheer Alfred up except that Alfred didn't look right when he wasn't happy. "Buy me dinner for the next two days and we'll call it even."

Arthur didn't know what made him say that because it now meant he had dinner dates with Alfred for the next two days. It would take at least that long for Juan Machado to get him more copies of those photos if they did exist, though.

Alfred gave him a tentative smile. "All right," he said.

Arthur took a deep breath. "I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour. I want to change and shower again," he said.

Alfred nodded and was gone in a minute, clearly smart enough not to try his luck.

Arthur sighed and stripped out of his clothes again.

* * *

><p>They ate at one of the more casual hotel restaurants for dinner which was nice because Arthur didn't really want to go anyplace far after the day he'd had.<p>

Arthur was feeling a lot better by then because after a call to Juan Machado, he'd been assured that Juan could get him copies of the photos in two days. On the down side, since Arthur was feeling better, he was noticing Alfred a lot more again – how his T-shirt stretched nicely across his broad shoulders, the angles of his face made sharper by the dim lighting, and also the stream of phone numbers that he had managed to acquire upon walking into the restaurant.

"That's the fifth time a girl has bought you a drink," Arthur commented as a waiter brought Alfred yet another whiskey with compliments from some girl at a different table. "You could get drunk for free."

Alfred grinned. "You've had four people buy you drinks too," he said. "It's the accent."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You like my accent?" he asked.

Alfred shrugged. "Every time you open your mouth, someone else asks if you're British and buys you another drink."

Arthur chuckled. "Then maybe I should talk more. Every time you open _your_ mouth, I see someone wince."

"You saying you don't like my accent?" Alfred said.

Arthur shrugged. "It's not so much your accent as what you say that I can't stand, really."

Alfred just grinned brighter. "That's a lie. You're biased against my accent."

Arthur wasn't sure when they came to the unspoken agreement not to talk about work or their clients, but neither of them did throughout the entire dinner, and for some reason, that made it a lot easier. They _should_ have had nothing in common to talk about at all aside from work which was part true – Arthur didn't even own a video game console much less play any of the myriad of games Alfred seemed to be in love with – but conversation was easy anyway. Especially when they got on the topic of people they both couldn't stand.

"Let me tell you about Francis, that bloody frog was the bane of my existence through law school," Arthur said, pushing around the vegetable side of his meal with a fork. "Just because I was younger and smarter than his stupid arse, he picked on me whenever he could. And it was worse because he was friends with my older brother – I think half the cases I was forced to take back then was because Francis helped Scott pick them out."

"You know when I just finished up law school, Francis and Gilbert wanted me to join their firm as a junior associate – I interned at their place before," Alfred said.

"I take it you said no?" Arthur said.

Alfred nodded, spearing a fry on his plate. "Yeah, well, I wanted to work for the DA's office – get into criminal law – murders, homicides and everything."

"You're really working more white collar cases though, aren't you?" Arthur said.

"Mostly, yeah," Alfred said and shrugged. "My boss wants me to get more experience with the white collar crimes and everything before he'll let me take on the others."

Arthur took a sip of his drink. "You could work whatever you wanted if you went with a law firm," he said.

Alfred shook his head. "Not the really important cases –the ones where the victim is dead and the only way they're ever going to get justice is if the we deliver it," he said. "I don't want to help rich people who can hire all the best lawyers – I want to help the people who can't afford that. Give them the justice they deserve, you know?"

Arthur exhaled. Alfred reminded himself a lot of what he used to be before everything had happened in England. "It's not going to be that easy, Alfred," he said. "The real world…"

"It's what I want to do," Alfred said.

Arthur turned away, unable to keep looking at him when Alfred had such naïve confidence that he could really make a difference in the world. That was the sort of self-assurance that would be crushed soon enough in this business and Arthur just hoped he wouldn't be there to see it.

Arthur finished off the rest of his drink. He didn't want to think about this. "What's your favourite food?" he asked, changing the subject.

Alfred shot him a grin, but took the hint. "McDonald's," he said.

Arthur snorted. "McDonald's isn't a food, you idiot. It's a restaurant and the so-called food they sell is debatably edible."

From there, the conversation meandered from a debate over the pros and cons of fast food to Arthur's cooking hobby to recent movies that had come out (most of which Arthur had not seen and Alfred had). And when the restaurant closed for the night, they went back to Arthur's room to talk more over drinks, and Arthur found himself actually amused – genuinely enjoying talking to Alfred.

"You know, I think this is the first time we've spent so much time together not in court," Arthur said sometime after emptying his mini bar together with Alfred. "Or in bed," he added thoughtfully from where he was lounging on one of the chairs at the coffee table across from Alfred.

"We can change that," Alfred said.

"Maybe later," Arthur said, feeling pleasantly relaxed and not nearly so opposed to sleeping with Alfred again. In fact, it sounded like a pretty good idea and from the way Alfred was looking at him, Arthur was pretty sure he thought so too. He didn't feel the usual urgency though – maybe a side effect of the drinks – just the slow burn of desire for him to give in to any time he wanted. "Tell me more about your brother? What was his name again?"

"Matthew – he was studying over in the UK for awhile, but he's working in Canada now."

And then somewhere between Arthur confessing that he didn't know how to swim, and Alfred saying he wanted to show Arthur how to parasail, Arthur really did find himself in bed with Alfred, and Alfred was kissing him slow and languid, running his hand down Arthur's side to grope his arse. Arthur was kissing him back, open-mouthed; tasting the whiskey on Alfred's breath and not sure if he was drunk from his own drinks or from Alfred's. He pulled Alfred a little closer, twisting his fingers into the sleeve of Alfred's T-shirt and propping himself up on his free elbow so he could get closer.

Arthur sighed, breaking off the kiss. "What are we doing?" he said.

Alfred looked back at him, the glow of the lights from the brightly lit pools down below coming through the balcony doors. He pulled back just enough to take his glasses off and put them over at the bedside table.

"What I've wanted to do since I saw you here," Alfred said. He leaned in, his nose brushing Arthur's, and kissed him again.

Arthur gave in with a sigh and let him. He didn't want a relationship or even intimacy, but he was done denying that he didn't want Alfred. When Alfred tugged at his shirt, Arthur let him take it off, and then his trousers too until he was completely naked. He wasn't sure why he felt vulnerable when it certainly wasn't the first time he'd shown a lover his body but he still felt curiously exposed. Arthur didn't like it but he even less wanted to stop.

"Do you have…" Arthur trailed off, but Alfred got the hint as he hopped off the bed and went into his wallet to pull out a pack of condoms and lube.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Prepared, aren't you?"

"You never know when you might get lucky," Alfred said with a grin.

Arthur suppressed the little flash of displeasure he got at that – it wasn't like he and Alfred were really anything other than…other than people who worked against each other sometimes who had fucked three times. Alfred could sleep with whomever he wanted to as long as he didn't pick up some disgusting disease – and at the moment, Arthur was quite grateful that Alfred was prepared. There was no point in pretending there was anything more between himself and Alfred than what was here right now.

Alfred reached for him and kissed Arthur again, pressing him down into the mattress. It didn't take long at all for the kiss to go from relaxed to heated – not when Arthur could feel Alfred hard against his thigh, and he tangled on hand in Alfred's hair, pulling him closer. Alfred was horrible – addicting, Arthur thought. He'd never met anyone who turned him on the way Alfred did and it simultaneously made him want to keep Alfred tied to his bed forever and, at the same time, put as much distance between himself and Alfred as was possible.

Arthur shivered when he felt Alfred's hand circle around his cock. Alfred pumped it a few times, slower and gentler than the other times they'd been together. It was embarrassing how close Arthur came to coming just from that, and it took all his self-control to still Alfred's hand. "Wait, I want you to…"

"What?" Alfred asked, husky.

"Fuck me," Arthur said, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure when Alfred's fingers tightened around his cock. "Fuck me."

"All right," Alfred said. He sounded breathless as he backed up, rolling the condom on himself with expert speed and opening up the lube. He paused after he'd slicked his fingers, and then he seemed not to be able to help himself leaning back to kiss Arthur again.

Arthur inhaled sharply, breaking off the kiss when he felt Alfred's finger trace his entrance just once before it pushed inside. It had been awhile since the last time he'd been penetrated by anyone other than himself and he squirmed, gripping Alfred's biceps as he tried to relax.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked and Arthur nodded, pressing his face into Alfred's shoulder.

"Keep going," Arthur said, muffling a gasp against Alfred's skin as he added another finger. Arthur exhaling shaky as Alfred kissed the side of his jaw up to his ear, wherever he could reach as he slowly stretched Arthur and if it was meant to distract him, it was working as Arthur lost himself to the sensations. When Alfred mouthed a sensitive spot just below his ear, he found himself grinding up, pushing his hips against hard muscle, hardly noticing when Alfred added a third finger.

Alfred's fingers curved against that spot from where they were buried deep in him and Arthur gave a strangled gasp as his cock twitched. Just like that, the last traces of languidness left him and Arthur felt desperate for something – _anything_.

"Are you—"

"Do it," Arthur all but sobbed, dropping back down against the sheets, not entirely sure what he was even asking for except that he wanted it _now_.

Alfred's hands pushed Arthur until he'd rolled over onto his stomach, arse raised up, and that was all the warning he got before Alfred pushed into him. Arthur gasped, biting his lip as he tried to adjust to the discomfort. He wanted this, but for all that he'd fantasized it – for all the times he'd wanted to do this with Alfred already – Alfred's cock was bigger than just three fingers, and it hurt. Arthur could feel it when Alfred finally slid in to the hilt, the small puff of breath Alfred gave against the back of his neck, and that feeling of being caged in by Alfred's entire body hot around him.

It took a moment for the burn to fade to an ache, and then Arthur slowly rocked his hips back. "Alfred…" he said, breathless. "Alfred, move."

He heard Alfred grunt, but he didn't move. "Give me a moment or I'm gonna lose it," Alfred said, his voice strained.

Arthur gave a weak chuckle. "It's been awhile, has it? Or am I just that—" He broke off in a gasp because Alfred chose just then to give a quick, shallow thrust.

"Shut up," Alfred said, but he began to move, his hands gripping Arthur's waist so he could pull out nearly all the way before thrusting back in. Alfred wasn't gentle – once he'd gotten started, he set a fast pace, too enthusiastic and not quite good enough with his control so that with each new thrust, Arthur was ploughed forward.

Arthur gasped as Alfred drove him nearly face-first into a pillow, feeling too full and fast and too much, and all Arthur could do was scramble for purchase, fingers clenching in the sheets as he felt pleasure race through him with every movement. Alfred's hand gripped his thighs a little too hard, bruising, and pulled his legs apart wider so Alfred could plunge in at a deeper angle. It took a moment to realize the high-pitched moan that he heard was his own when Alfred brushed against that spot inside him, and Arthur trembled, hips jolting as he tried to fuck himself back on Alfred, suddenly frantic for release.

Alfred, eternally frustrating pillock that he was, instead slowed down. "Arthur, Arthur you—"

Arthur let out a stream of curses, pushing back faster, but the angle wasn't quite right and he couldn't get it to work. "If you don't bloody fuck me right now, I'm going to—"

Arthur broke off when Alfred finally did as told and plunged back, harder and faster than before. Alfred, the bloody brilliant bastard that he was, let go of Arthur's hip, throwing the rhythm for just a moment before that same hand wrapped around Arthur's cock and jerking him too hard and fast, to the same tempo Alfred had set.

There was little Arthur could do, gripping the sheets beneath him as Alfred pounded into him, so good that Arthur didn't realize he was coming until he already was, his orgasm ripping through him as Alfred continued to hit that spot. His body throbbed with pleasure as Alfred fucked him through it without slowing. Arthur could hear the roar of the blood rushing through his ears, feel the faint ache of his hands where his fingers had clenched too tightly, the tightness where Alfred was still connected to him – and then Arthur's mind went blank and he slumped into the mattress, hardly aware of Alfred's continuing thrusts.

When Arthur came back to himself, Alfred was curled around him, breath just beginning to steady. He could feel Alfred's hand cupped around his face, thumb brushing Arthur's ear, and Arthur shifted a little, feeling the sort of blissfully relaxed the way the after-feeling of a good workout felt. He turned so he could see Alfred and just lay staring at him for a moment, watching Alfred stare back at him. Alfred's eyes were clear blue without his glasses to hide them, his lips swollen and wet the way Arthur was sure his must be as well, and in spite of himself, he felt a small thrill just knowing Alfred was less than six inches away from him and naked.

"Okay," Arthur said.

Alfred's brow creased. "What?" he said.

Arthur exhaled, pressing his lips together, and then looked back up at Alfred. "Okay, I'll do – whatever it this – _this_—" He shifted, inadvertently moving closer to Alfred. "I'll do this if you'll stop getting involved in my cases." He glanced at Alfred, scared to see what Alfred would do, if he'd agree or not, and hating himself for caring.

"This?" Alfred repeated, looking even more confused.

Arthur bit his lip and then leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Alfred's lips. "This," he repeated and glared at Alfred. It figured that Arthur had been right and no one could be that good looking and talented and smart – clearly Alfred was lacking in that last department.

He could just about see the gears turning in Alfred's head – for having such a sharp mind when it came to law, he certainly didn't think fast on his feet when it came to anything else. Alfred though, instead of being happy or grateful or horny at the very least, looked perturbed. "You want to date me to screw up my cases?" he asked.

"Who said anything about dating?" Arthur said and it was only because he was still too fucked out and satiated to move yet, that he didn't kick Alfred out of bed. "And I'm not screwing up your cases – you're the one who keeps fucking up mine – just get yourself transferred to other clients. It can't be that hard…" Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Have you been taking on the cases against me _on purpose?_"

Alfred did a very good impression of a deer caught in headlights. "No…?" he tried.

"I can't believe you!" Arthur said, sitting up and ignoring the discomfort at the sudden movement. "You've been picking on me on purpose, you wanker!"

"I wasn't picking on you," Alfred said, reaching for him. "I just… you know… pulled a few strings—"

"_Alfred F. Jones_," Arthur said. He wasn't sure if he felt more angry or oddly flattered that Alfred had actually pulled strings to get onto Arthur's cases. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Alfred let out a far too exaggerated sigh as his hand closed around Arthur's wrist and he tugged Arthur. "But Arthur…"

"Now," Arthur repeated, immovable.

"Fine, I'll do it," Alfred said. He looked a step away from pouting but clearly did not intend to leave Arthur's hotel room anytime soon. "I'll stop requesting to be on your cases."

"Swear it or you have to leave," Arthur said.

Alfred let out an even louder sigh and cracked a smile. "Okay, I swear, I'll stop," he said. This time when Alfred tugged again, Arthur grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled down until his head was pillowed on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred put an arm around his shoulders and Arthur hated admitting it, but it did feel nice. "But if I can't defeat you and your evil clients in court, then I'll have to convince you to stop working for them."

Arthur snorted. "That is never happening," he said.

"Yes it is," Alfred said, exuding utter assurance.

And Arthur finally bean to relax as Alfred's arm curled around him, coming to card through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes. Of all the deals he'd made with Alfred so far, this one was his favourite.

* * *

><p>Now that the bargain had been struck and most definitely in his advantage this time, Arthur didn't feel so bad about the whole thing anymore. When he got up in the morning and found Alfred still asleep, he gave in to the temptation and woke Alfred with a blowjob that turned into a gratifying round of sex. After that, Alfred had to go meet with his client – who Arthur was both slightly worried and relieved to find was real – so Arthur took the time to study up on his casework. When Alfred came back, they went down to the pools mostly because Alfred wanted to spend time in the water. Unfairly, Alfred swam like a shark but he didn't force Arthur to get in the pools with him after what had happened the day before.<p>

Instead, Arthur lounged beneath an umbrella with his casework. He found himself glancing up far too often, eyes settling on Alfred's tanned body as he played an impromptu game of pool volleyball with a group of teenagers, or when Alfred rented a jet ski together with some friends he'd apparently made upon being at the pool for three hours, and took it out to skim around the ocean by the edge of the pools. Most of the time, Arthur didn't even realize he was staring until Alfred looked over at him and then Arthur would have to pretend he'd actually been staring at his laptop the whole time.

When Arthur began to sunburn even with the shade of the umbrella, he went back to his hotel room and ended up napping through a good chunk of the afternoon.

By the time he woke again, it was nearly dinnertime and he felt refreshed and in a strangely good mood. He was sticky from all the sunscreen he'd put on earlier that day so he went to take a long, hot shower and when he came out, drying himself off with a towel, he very nearly had a heart attack.

Alfred was lounging on his bed, fully dressed and channel surfing.

"How did you get in?" Arthur asked once his heart had slowed to an acceptable rate.

Alfred grinned and waved a key card in his hand. "I took it this morning when we left," he said.

"And when were you going to tell me you stole my key?" Arthur demanded. "You didn't touch anything else, did you?" He looked over at the papers he'd brought of his cases.

"I already promised not to get onto your cases, remember?" Alfred said and waggled his eyebrows. "Or was the sex so good you forgot?"

"In your dreams, Jones," Arthur said, all too aware that he was blushing. It got worse when Alfred very obviously raked his eyes down Arthur's naked body and then he grabbed the remote and switched off the television.

Arthur wrapped the towel around his waist, deciding to forego drying his hair. "Just let me get dressed and we can go to dinner," he said.

He went over to the dresser to take out a new change of clothes. He was debating if he wanted to wear a button-up shirt or a T-shirt when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, teasing at the hemline of his towel.

"Jesus, don't scare me like that," Arthur said, wiggling as he tried to get out of Alfred's grip.

"You can't expect me to not do anything when you're dressed like that… or not dressed, I should say," Alfred said, his breath hot in Arthur's ear.

Alfred's words shot straight down his spine and Arthur felt his balls tighten with anticipation. "Dinner, Alfred," he said, breath hitching anyway when Alfred pressed a kiss to the skin behind his ear. "You owe me, remember?"

"Dinner can wait," Alfred said and Arthur felt his towel loosen and fall to the ground.

Arthur gave up pretending he didn't want this and turned to slot his lips against Alfred's. They never did make it down for dinner.

With their new agreement, Arthur found himself in a state of physical bliss for the next two days. He and Alfred spent more time in his room than out of it, and more time in bed than out of it. While Arthur had always enjoyed sex, he'd never thought he could be addicted to it the way he seemed to feel around Alfred all of the time. He was beginning to think he might really just stay the entire week – Alfred's business with whoever he had been meeting seemed to be over since Alfred hadn't gone out at all the day before, and Arthur had taken the week off for this trip so he really didn't have to hurry home if he didn't want to – when the room service knocked on his door to bring in brunch on the third morning.

Alfred was in the shower so Arthur went to answer the door, only to be greeted by Juan Machado pushing the room service cart himself.

"You…"

"Your room service," Juan said. There were clothes strewn around Arthur's room – both his and Alfred's and clearly there was another occupant in the room because the shower was running. But Juan didn't ask any questions or even look surprised, only leaving again the way he'd come.

Arthur frowned, a little embarrassed at having been caught indulging in recreational activities when he was supposed to be doing business with Juan but there wasn't much to explain either. He looked down at the trays of food, and under one of the plates, he found the yellow envelope.

He eased it out from under the plates and brought it over to the coffee table to open up. The pictures that slid out this time were focused and clear. Arthur felt his heart catch in throat as he stared down at the first picture. It couldn't be…

He pushed it aside, looking down at the second, and third, and fourth but they all showed the same thing – different angles and different times – but unmistakable. He felt himself growing colder and colder, a static filling his head, mixed with the drumming noise of the shower, as he flipped through the dozen or so pictures, faster and faster.

He heard the shower shut off and the hum of Alfred's voice, singing a muffled song out of tune in the bathroom.

Arthur closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, the pictures were still there showing the same thing.

In his hands, he held a dozen photographs of himself and Alfred. Pictures of them together in his Manhattan office – fucking, kissing, even just talking. There were pictures of them from each of the times they'd been together there.

Someone had bugged his office in Manhattan and was watching his every move in New York. And that someone knew about his affair with Alfred.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC maybe?<strong>

Oh man, haven't updated this in forever… I was going to drop this fic, but I don't know, we'll see. XD Anyway, this fic now has lovely fanart by blulious/broesa and MerridewLover! You can see the links on my profile page!

Also to those who asked: No, there is no RusAme in this fic (or in any of the fics I will ever write). I mean, for one, I don't multiship USUK. And for another, I am deathly in hate with love triangles. So it is just not going to happen, sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

"Alfred F. Jones," Arthur said, shoving his way into the bathroom and yanking the shower curtains open.

Alfred stopped singing and turned to him with an eyebrow raised. "You could have just asked if you wanted to join me," he said, grinning.

Arthur shoved him. "How _dare_ you?"

Alfred slipped against the slick tiles. "Have you gone crazy?" he said, trying to grab him as he shoved Alfred again.

"You bloody fucking arse!" Arthur shouted and shoved him a third time. "I thought we had a deal!"

"What are you talking about?" Alfred snapped and even though Alfred was at the disadvantage, both naked and wet, after a short scuffle, he got his hands around Arthur's wrists and wrestled him out of the shower.

Once Alfred had pushed Arthur back into the hotel and onto carpet, he let Arthur go and stood there, dripping wet, eyes flashing with anger. "What the fuck has gotten into you?" he said.

Arthur glared at him, rubbing his sore wrists, and then went to the coffee table where he'd left the photos. He threw the packet at Alfred, photographs scattering all over the ground. "Fuck you, Jones."

Alfred frowned and bent to pick them up.

Arthur could just about see Alfred's dawning realization of what the photos were, but instead of laughing at Arthur, Alfred's expression only grew stormier and then closed off. "Who took these photos?" he said.

"You did," Arthur snapped even though Alfred's reaction was all wrong. That was not the face of a man who had taken secret photos of them.

"I'm not fucking stupid," Alfred said. "This would screw me over too. Probably me more than you," he said. "Everyone already knows you work for the criminals. If they think I'm in on it with you—"

"Then why did you start all this?" Arthur snapped. Alfred was right. This material would jeopardise Alfred's position as much as his own, but that only made it worse. If Alfred hadn't taken the photos, then someone else had, and Arthur preferred an enemy he knew to one he didn't know any day of the week. "Are you fucking insane? This is going to screw over both our careers—"

"Shut up!" Alfred snapped and all the energy seemed to go out of him as he sat down on the bed and flipped through a few of the pictures. "I need to think."

"What is there to think about?" Arthur said. "It's over! We go back to America and start preparing the defence before this all gets out," he said. "If we leave right away—"

"It'll be too late if whoever took these intends to go to court with them," Alfred said. "They've got pictures from when we were still in the States."

"Do you have a better idea?" Arthur said. He began pacing the room, glancing over at Alfred every so often but Alfred only continued looking down at the pictures, sorting through them.

"If they even gave you these pictures, they don't intend to take them to court," Alfred said. "It's probably blackmail."

"Blackmail?" Arthur said and then rubbed his arms and began pacing again. "Blackmail for what?"

Alfred shrugged. "You're the one with the shady clients."

"Why the fuck would any of myclients blackmail me?" Arthur said.

"Then who have you pissed off who would?" Alfred said.

"It could be you," Arthur said, stopping in front of Alfred. "You're in these pictures too and you've just as many enemies as I do."

Alfred didn't argue. "Fine, so it could be me too," he said. He finally looked up and met Arthur's gaze. "We'd better not meet again until the blackmailer contacts you—"

"Why do you assume it'll be me?" Arthur demanded.

"Either of us," Alfred snapped, sounding just as frustrated as Arthur felt. He stood up and went to the bathroom, coming back out with a towel. "I'll be taking the first flight out," he said, drying himself off and then going to pick up his discarded clothes. Even as Alfred efficiently dressed himself and even though they were in more trouble than Arthur had ever dreamed might happen when he first got involved with Alfred F. Jones, he still felt the twinge of disappointment as Alfred's tan skin disappeared beneath his clothes.

Arthur cleared his throat as Alfred slid his shirt back on. "I'll phone you if they contact me, shall I?"

Alfred straightened his shirt and then looked up, and in two quick strides, he was right in front of Arthur and pulling him close by the waist.

It took him by surprise and Arthur flinched. "We're already in enough trouble, Alfred," he said.

Alfred only pulled him closer, his breath warm in Arthur's ear and Arthur froze, shivering. He could still smell the fresh soap on Alfred's skin and feel the warmth of his body all down his front. But instead of kissing him, Alfred stopped short, his lips brushing Arthur's ear and arms warm around Arthur's waist. "The room will be bugged. Some of those pictures were from security cameras in here," he said, his voice so low it was nothing more than a rumble.

Arthur stiffened, but stayed still, letting Alfred run his hands down Arthur's back in what looked like a goodbye embrace.

"I'll find you when we get back to New York, and we'll discuss this somewhere safe," Alfred whispered. "Be careful."

Arthur exhaled and began to nod, only to stop when Alfred kissed him right below his ear and then again on Arthur's lips this time. Arthur didn't know if it was because the adrenaline was beginning to die down from the situation, or if it was because it might be the last kiss he'd be getting for awhile – maybe forever, he thought vaguely and told himself he'd be okay with it. Either way, he felt weak and overwhelmed, and when Alfred finally drew back again, Arthur had to lean on him for a moment before he could compose himself enough to stand on his own.

"I'll see you in court," Alfred said.

Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Arthur had very little memory of exactly how he got home after that, but somehow he made it through customs and collapsed into bed a day later. He had all the incriminating photographs in his suitcase, and all he wanted to do was sleep for maybe a year and never think about work again, but he couldn't. Thanks to the week he'd spent in Cuba, he was now behind in all his cases and had to prepare.<p>

By sheer willpower, Arthur forced himself back to his feet and back down to the office to look through his cases again.

There was Yong Soo's case to begin with. Most of his material was already prepared, though a slander suit was nearly impossible to prove. They probably wouldn't win the case, but Yong Soo didn't care about winning as he did about publicizing. If Arthur was really lucky, though, he might dig up enough evidence to convince the news outlets to avoid litigation altogether and settle – possibly for a public apology to Yong Soo and a monetary compensation.

Other than that, Arthur didn't have a rush on anything else apart from his situation with Alfred. Arthur frowned as he tried to think who might have taken the photos. Juan Machado had given him the pictures, and he was involved in business with Ivan Braginsky…

Arthur went to his office cabinet and pulled out all the paper files he had on Ivan. When Ivan had first come to him, he had simply wanted Arthur to help keep track of his legal businesses and the occasional lawsuit against him—primarily by the D.A. Even though Arthur's own reputation wasn't exactly squeaky clean, in this case, Arthur was more than happy to keep it clean with the reputation Ivan had. In fact, it was actually Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt that took care of Ivan's less than legal businesses if Arthur's sources were correct.

So the odd thing was why Juan had come to him and not to Gilbert, when the illegal businesses should be filtered through Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt.

Arthur spent the next few hours poring over the files. Most of it was just documentation and not much was unfamiliar there. Arthur simply drafted and kept track of the legal documents for Ivan's loan shark business, his chain restaurant, and antique shop businesses that were in America. While the restaurant and antique shop businesses seemed fine, the loan shark business was what Arthur kept the sharpest eye on to make sure it was completely legal as far as the actual business went. Exactly how Ivan went about extracting loans was his business so long as the taxes were paid and the paperwork correct.

And this time, just as every other time, he couldn't find any mention of anything illegal – of course, because Arthur made sure to keep it that way. There was nothing about Ivan's overseas businesses either, and no mention of Juan Machado anywhere at all.

He rubbed his eyes. He was missing something in all of this and he didn't know what.

Arthur put down the files and picked up the stack of his private mail that Angelique had left on his desk for him. The majority of it was the weekly grocery ads and a couple of bills, but on top was a plain white envelope with his name scrawled over it.

Arthur slid his fingernail under the fold and ripped open the envelope. One piece of paper fluttered out.

_9p—the bar where you hit on me the first time =)_

Even in Arthur's exhaustion-addled brain, he knew exactly who the note was from. "Alfred, you arse," he said, crumpling up the paper and throwing it away. Alfred must have slipped it in with the rest of his mail sometime before Arthur had gotten back.

It had no date on it, but a quick glance at the clock told Arthur it was already past 9 p.m. so he cursed, locked everything up again, and headed back out.

Rourey's pub was stuffed with people by the time Arthur arrived. Even though Alfred stuck out like a sore thumb most of the time, to his credit, he could blend in when he wanted to, and it took Arthur several moments to locate Alfred in a corner of the pub. Alfred had chosen a table that was hidden from the front entrance by a wall, and was chatting with a pair of attractive business ladies.

"Well, here's my client," Alfred said when Arthur walked up to them with his drink. "But we'll have to see that movie some other time," he said to the ladies.

The girls giggled and one of them grabbed Alfred's hand to scribble a number down on it. "Call us," she said and winked before they walked off toward the bar again.

"What did you call me?" Arthur said as he slid into the seat across from Alfred.

Alfred grinned. "I couldn't tell her who you really were," he said. "We're in enough trouble as is."

"If you knew that why on earth did you want to meet here?" Arthur demanded. "Every lawyer in town comes to this pub."

"Exactly," Alfred said. "It's a popular place for lawyers so no one will think twice if I happen to be here and you happen to be here. And if we see anyone we know, you can just pretend to be yelling at me like you always do."

"Oh, that is _not _pretend," Arthur said. He exhaled. "Well?"

"So did you find anything?" Alfred asked. "No one's contacted me."

Arthur shrugged. "I only got back a few hours ago," he said. "Have you thought of anyone you know who might have sent those?"

Alfred shook his head. "Who gave you the pictures?" he asked.

Arthur hesitated. He would be treading thin ice if he told Alfred about his business with Juan Machado, but they were in deep enough trouble now that he could see the sense in sharing this at least. "Juan Machado," he said finally. "If you tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, or use it in court against me, I swear—"

Alfred touched Arthur's hand. "I won't," he said.

Arthur took a deep breath, and then he told Alfred everything that had transpired before then – the business with Ivan, the tickets to the resort… and then he remembered. "He wanted me to help him out of the business," he said. "Then he gave me the pictures." Just the act of recounting everything cleared Arthur's mind. "So he must be the one blackmailing me—he set this whole thing up! I'll have his fucking head!"

Alfred was still frowning. "But he never said how he wanted you to help him?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head. "Maybe we should have stayed. He was waiting for me to see the pictures…"

"No, if this is how it is, we need to even the playing field," Alfred said. He still sounded calm and serious, clear-headed.

Arthur was beginning to understand exactly how Alfred had managed to get in the position he was in now and win all those cases—for all that he acted like an idiot, Alfred had a sharp mind and could think clearly when he needed to. "What do you suggest we do?"

Alfred exhaled and swirled his drink, looking down at it. "Machado won't expose us for now," he said. "He wants something from us, so at least for now, we should be safe…"

"Unless?" Arthur said, watching him.

Alfred looked back up at Arthur. "How clever do you think Juan Machado is?" he asked.

Arthur thought back to it. Juan had been subtle enough about meeting Arthur—the phone calls, the pictures, getting him to Cuba. He shrugged. "Smart enough to blackmail us, but not smart enough not to get involved with Braginsky."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and grinned at him.

"Oh shut up," Arthur said. "I'm involved in his legal business."

"I'm sure that's what Machado says too," Alfred said. "But what I mean is—between Machado and Braginsky, who do you think would win? If Braginsky ever got a hold of those pictures…"

Arthur's blood went cold at the thought. If Ivan ever found out he'd met with Juan Machado, Arthur wasn't sure Ivan would listen to reason at all even though Arthur honestly hadn't known what Juan had planned to do. Worse, everyone in New York knew how much Alfred and Ivan hated each other—if Ivan ever found out Arthur had been having an affair with Alfred, Arthur might be kissing his life goodbye and not just his career.

"I know you don't want me involved in your cases, but this time, both our careers are on the line," Alfred said. "We need to know exactly how Machado and Braginsky are involved. I'll share what I know, you share what you know."

Arthur didn't like it, but he could see the sense in it. "Fine," he said. "But like I told you, I only handle Braginsky's legal businesses."

"When's the next time you meet Braginsky?" Alfred asked.

Arthur shrugged. "We don't have anything to take care of right now," he said. The last time he'd spoken to Ivan had been over the restraining orders on his cousin.

"Find a reason and contact him," Alfred said. "And keep an eye out for Machado if he contacts you again."

"What about you? You've got information on Braginsky that I've never seen," Arthur said. If he had to give up information, he wouldn't be the only one.

Alfred grinned. "I'll share too," he said, looking more amused than he had a right to, and pushed his chair back, putting down his glass. "I'm going to get going then."

Arthur reached forward to grab Alfred's arm before he could stand up. "When will I see you again?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. "For the information, you twat, stop grinning!"

Alfred didn't stop grinning and leaned forward. "Damn, I want to kiss you," he said.

Arthur could actually feel the blush spread up his face and hated himself for it. "Fuck you."

"Or that," Alfred answered, but drew back again. "Have a talk with Braginsky sometime in the next week," he said. "And I'll pick you up Friday night at 7?"

Arthur glared at him. "What happened to subtlety?"

"Where do you want to meet then?" Alfred asked.

Arthur thought for a moment. "The public library," he decided. It was a place Arthur went every so often to work on his cases, and public enough that no one would think twice if he happened to meet Alfred there. "Schwarzman building. We'll meet in the Rose reading room."

"Fine," Alfred said.

"And it'll have to be at noon," Arthur said. "It closes early on Fridays."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You _would_ choose a library," he said.

This time, Arthur stood up first. "Don't call me," he said.

He left to the sound of Alfred's laughter.

* * *

><p>Arthur couldn't sleep well and woke early the next morning to jump right back into work. While he was gone, a potential client had called. Arthur had to turn her down because he couldn't afford to work on another case with everything else happening. It was a rotten start to the day.<p>

Instead, he spent all morning alternately working on Yong Soo's case, and trying to think up reasons to call up and meet with Ivan. He also kept finding himself thinking up reasons to call Alfred or drop by the courthouse just to try bumping into him—he ignored both impulses.

He ended up getting a lot less done than he had intended by lunchtime, but it turned out he didn't have to worry.

Ivan Braginsky came into the office at 3p.m. that very day without an appointment.

"Ivan," Arthur said, surprised, when Angelique brought him in. "How may I help you?" He stood to shake Ivan's hand and then sat back down. His heart was beating fast—Arthur didn't know if Ivan knew at all what had happened, but Alfred's warning the night before had made him wary. While Arthur wouldn't call himself small or weak, Ivan was the size of a small elephant and if it came down to a physical fight, Arthur was pretty sure that Ivan would win.

"Did you meet with Natalia?" Ivan asked as soon as he sat down.

Of all the things he expected Ivan to say, that was not one of them. "What?" Arthur asked.

"Natalia, my cousin," Ivan said. "You met with her in Cuba, yes?"

The mention of Cuba sent Arthur's nerves into overdrive. He shook his head. "I've never seen her before."

Ivan smiled and it felt like the room temperature dropped by a few degrees. "She was in Cuba. You were in Cuba. You met with her, yes?" he repeated.

Arthur processed the new information. Natalia Braginsky, the one Arthur had helped file a restraining order against—she had been in Cuba at the same time as him. He'd seen pictures of her before when they filed the restraining order, but he'd never seen her in real life before. It was too big of a coincidence for them both to be in Cuba at the same time. Ivan seemed to think he had gone to meet her, and that gave Arthur an out.

"Yes," Arthur said. "She asked me to meet her there, so I went—she wanted me to help lift the restraining order, but I didn't agree."

Ivan's expression never changed and it was making Arthur sweat bullets, sitting under Ivan's steady gaze. "Is that so? Then I am glad," he said.

Arthur couldn't tell if Ivan truly meant that or if he had just said so, but for now, Arthur didn't have to explain more. "While you're here, would you mind going over a few documents with me?" he asked.

It wasn't entirely a lie, even though Arthur's main goal was to dig more information out of Ivan. He got out the documents from Ivan's folder. "They're going through restaurants to find illegal immigrant workers again," he said. Ivan's restaurants, Arthur knew, had more than its fair share of illegal immigrants from Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. "If you give me access to your overseas businesses, I can try to have them employed to you as temporary transfer workers here for business."

"I have other lawyers to handle them," Ivan said.

"What? Bonnefoy, Carriedo and Beilschmidt?" Arthur said.

"They do their job," Ivan said mildly. "You do yours."

"Then at least have them cooperate with me," Arthur said. It was what he'd been shooting for—a comparison technique. He'd make one outrageous demand, so whatever he said next would seem mild by comparison and Ivan would be much more likely to agree. It worked.

"All right," Ivan said. "Tell them I asked them to cooperate, yes?"

"Great," Arthur said, and Ivan got back to his feet. "Let me know if anything else comes up."

As soon as Ivan left, Arthur grabbed his coat and took the taxi to Bonnefoy, Carriedo and Beilschmidt's office.

* * *

><p>"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Francis said when Arthur walked into the office. He was in the middle of a phone call by the look of it, but he had clapped a hand over the receiver.<p>

"Shut up, Bonnefoy," Arthur said. "Where's Beilschmidt?"

Francis laughed and pointed to Gilbert's office. "As uncouth as always, you are," he said, spinning in his chair, and proceeded to ignore Arthur.

Arthur went to Gilbert's office and knocked once before walking in, in case he had any clients in there. Bonnefoy, Carriedo, and Beilschmidt was a firm that lost more than it won, Arthur was pretty sure, yet somehow they still maintained a good reputation in the lawyer world – possibly because every so often, they would pull off a move of brilliance. As the three of them each had a different area of expertise, their firm could work with a large variety of clients.

Their offices though, was probably the least professional out of anything Arthur had ever seen. It wasn't so much that the office didn't convey the right elegance and wealth to their clients, as it reflected each one of their tastes which were incredibly different. Francis's office spaces were hung with impressionist paintings and the soft elegance of white and gold furniture like something out of Paris. Antonio's offices were bright and colourful with loud, frilly curtains and tomato-themed furniture everywhere. Gilbert's though, was the most chaotic office. In fact, Gilbert didn't have anything in the way of decorations at all except for calendars that bordered on porn hung up o his walls, though by far, the most characteristic thing about his offices were that they were in utter chaos. Stacks of papers and books were strewn everywhere in the room – on the desk, the floors, the chairs – everywhere except the actual bookshelves, apparently.

Arthur nearly slipped trying to make his way across the office, and shoved a stack of papers off a chair so he could sit.

"What the fuck was that for?" Gilbert demanded. "That'll take fucking forever to sort again."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You had to do it anyway. You've probably got rats under all these papers," he said.

"Hey, I don't tell you how to organize, you don't tell me how to organize," Gilbert said and leaned back. He had been looking through some papers on his desk, though it was a wonder how he found anything at all. "What do you want?"

"Braginsky's businesses—tell me what you know," Arthur said. Gilbert was the one of the three partners who was in charge of Ivan Braginsky, Arthur knew, though he was pretty sure Gilbert both hated and was terrified by Ivan. Still, like Arthur, he took the business because Ivan paid ludicrously well.

Gilbert looked surprised for a moment and then grinned. "Too bad, he's my client—not yours," he said. "Well, not yours in anything that matters."

Arthur bristled. "He's given permission for a legal matter."

Gilbert picked up his phone and dialled. "Braginsky? Kirkland is here asking for information—fine. All right," he said, looking at Arthur. Arthur could hear a few more murmured words, and then Gilbert's pale face went splotchy red. "Fuck you, Braginsky," he said and hung up.

Arthur smirked. "Give me the information."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Hang on, he said only the foreign businesses," he said. "And don't get your hopes up—Braginsky has people abroad taking care of most of that."

"Whatever, just give it to me," Arthur said.

Gilbert climbed over a waist-high stack of books and began rummaging through a molehill of papers stacked in one corner, before emerging with a few stapled sheets of paper. Well, Arthur supposed this was one way to prevent theft—even the most confident of thieves wouldn't want to wade through this mess to find something.

Then he went to another corner of his office to push more papers off what Arthur had assumed was just an abnormally large pile of papers, but turned out to be a Xerox machine covered in papers. Gilbert made copies of the stapled sheets. "Here," he said, holding them out to Arthur, but when Arthur took them, Gilbert refused to let go. "What do you need all this for?"

"A way to deal with his illegal immigrant cousins who all work at his restaurants," Arthur said and yanked the sheets out of Gilbert's hand, giving him a papercut.

"Motherfucker!" Gilbert cursed and stuck his cut finger into his mouth.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Arthur said, saluting him with the papers and then left, feeling rather pleased with himself.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the conference room, looking over the documents in fine detail. While Gilbert had been telling the truth and there really wasn't much in the papers aside from the briefest documentation of Ivan's overseas businesses, and they primarily seemed to be the legitimate, legal businesses as well. There were dry cleaning services in Russia, a bakery chain in East Germany, and a few miscellaneous services spread around the Baltics. What was more useful, however, were the mentions of partnerships that Ivan had abroad—also vaguely documented, but still there. There was one short mention of a J.M. from Cuba and a cigar exporting business, and a few numbers next to it, but not much else.

But that reminded Arthur of the trip and Ivan's odd mention of Natalia. Apparently, she had been in Cuba when Arthur had, even though Arthur hadn't gone to meet with her. It was too big of a coincidence that all in the space of a week, he, Alfred, and Natalia had all been there—and then it all came together.

"Alfred bloody fucking Jones," Arthur said, eyes widening.

Natalia was Alfred's mysterious "business" in Cuba.

Alfred must have gone to Cuba to meet with Natalia and run into Arthur then, though he had no idea why either of them would decide Cuba was a good place to meet. That was a bad sign. The only reason Natalia would be meeting with someone from the state's attorney's office would be because she had evidence for a case they were working on. Alfred had been trying to take Ivan down ever since he began working as a prosecutor for the state. Natalia was selling out her cousin.

Arthur didn't know what to do with this new information. His first instinct was to call Ivan and begin briefing for the lawsuit that Alfred was inevitably preparing, but he couldn't—not when telling Ivan would mean exposing what Arthur had really been doing in Cuba.

His second thought made him go cold. Alfred had used him again. He'd thought he'd taken care of the Alfred problem in Cuba, but it was just like all those times before when Arthur thought he'd won only to realize he'd fallen into Alfred's trap.

In fact, Alfred had likely set up this entire blackmail scenario so Arthur would share information with Alfred. Come to think of it, ever since they'd seen the photos, Arthur had been the one sharing all his information about Juan Machado, his business in Cuba—it was only by luck that Arthur hadn't told Alfred all of his business with Ivan.

Arthur's entire career had nearly been fucked up all over again, and he'd only narrowly escaped. Even now, Alfred had too much information already—this, Arthur told himself, this was why you were not supposed to sleep with the enemy.

So help him, Arthur was going to _destroy_ Alfred in court.

* * *

><p>Arthur poured himself into work for the next week and managed to deliver such a scathing argument to the media outlets that they agreed to nearly all of Yong Soo's demands. He also did as much research as possible into Natalia Braginsky—he didn't know when the case would be coming, but it was only a matter of time and he needed to be prepared.<p>

Friday came around and Arthur stayed at the office, looking over the brief of a pro bono case that had come to his desk. While Arthur technically didn't have to take any volunteer cases, they were recommended and a good way to build both his network and his reputation—at least, if he won.

Usually Arthur only took the ones that would benefit him, and this case was just a standard vehicular injury case which wouldn't do much for his reputation. The victim was some guy called Eduard Von Bock, a computer technician, who had been injured in the accident and was now laid up in a coma. The only reason Arthur wanted to take it at all, was because he had no other jobs at the moment, and he wanted to be busy so he'd stop thinking about how much he wanted to cut off Alfred's balls and make him eat them.

"Horace, I need you to do a little investigating," Arthur called.

"Yes?" Horace said.

"It's for this car accident," Arthur said, showing him the files. "Get me pictures of the location and everything about the car—this should be cut and dry, but I don't want any nasty surprises."

Horace nodded and left.

Arthur was still in the middle of studying up on the case, when he heard the jangle of the bells at the front and suddenly his office door had burst open with a bang.

Even knowing how Alfred could be, Arthur still jumped up, nearly falling out of his chair at the sudden noise.

"What the fuck?" Arthur cursed, trying to calm his heart down.

"I waited two hours for you," Alfred said, crossing the room in two strides and effectively blocking Arthur into a corner. "You stood me up."

This close, Arthur could smell the faint, masculine cologne that Alfred was wearing. He could hear Alfred's coat rustle, see his burning blue eyes and his chapped lips that he could still remember kissing less than a week ago.

He shoved Alfred hard and backed out of reach.

"Get out," Arthur said.

Alfred began reaching for Arthur again but stopped when Arthur glared at him. He opened his palms and raised an eyebrow instead. "Am I missing something here?" he asked.

"No," Arthur said. How dare he play innocent when he had set up the entire elaborate scheme to get information from Arthur. He'd been planning it since before they'd even slept together – all those pictures were part of Alfred's plan to blackmail Arthur. The trip to Cuba too – Alfred must have had Juan call Arthur there to take more photos to trick Arthur into working with him and giving him the information Alfred wanted. Arthur was an idiot for believing Alfred would deal with him quid pro quo.

"No you're not," Arthur said. "Apparently I was the only one missing anything."

Alfred sighed and began looking amused. "Look, babe, I can't fix this if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"Don't you dare call me that," Arthur said. His fists were clenched so hard it hurt, and he wanted to break Alfred's jaw except Alfred would probably just use it to sue him. "I said leave!"

"Arthur—"

"Angelique!" Arthur shouted, pulling open the door. "Call the police!" he said. "Tell them we have a violent intruder who is harassing me."

"Shall I tell them who it is?" he heard Angelique call.

"I'll leave," Alfred said, straightening his coat. He deliberately crowded close to Arthur as he walked out. "I have no idea what's gotten into you, but you know where to find me if you need me."

"I've never needed anything less," Arthur said.

He watched as Alfred walked out of sight. He didn't allow his legs to go soft until he heard the door slam shut again, and finally, he sank to the ground, shaking. It wasn't until then that he realized he was crying.

* * *

><p>TBC maybe?<p>

Additional part of Chim's bday present because the camp fic is not really new, and this chapter is not M-rated because Chim only wants USTs. 8D


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur spent the entire night combing through his offices and his apartment for bugs and was disgusted to find his phones, as expected, had all been bugged although he could find no signs of any video feeds. Judging by the photos that had been taken of Arthur's office, most of those photos had been taken straight off of the security cameras that Arthur had installed.

"Someone fucking hacked in," he muttered, disgusted. He couldn't turn off the security camera system without jeopardizing his security, and at best, all he could do was wait until morning to get a security guy in to look at the system.

Between the bugs and his whole security system being hacked, Arthur had no doubt that the blackmailer knew everything between him and Alfred and their borderline legal exchanges. Worse, Arthur had no idea how long he'd been monitored and just how much information about his cases and clients had leaked out with the security breach. And even worse than that, even if Arthur could probably talk his way out of the rest of it, Juan Machado had lured Arthur to Cuba which was not exactly a legal place to travel to from the United States to begin with. Although his travel there had entirely been planned by Juan so technically, Arthur wasn't breaking any laws by his own volition, he could hardly explain why he'd decided to go and what he was doing there without all the information about Ivan and Juan coming out. And that kind of business could land Arthur in jail if not the morgue if Ivan found out.

The problem was that Arthur didn't know what the blackmailer wanted if it really was Juan Machado who had set the whole thing up. He also didn't know how much Alfred knew or what he planned to do with what he _did_ know, which left Arthur with two things to do:

Figure out what Juan Machado wanted.

Figure out how much information Natalya knew and had given Alfred.

As soon as Horace came in the next morning, Arthur sent him out to investigate Juan Machado's current contact and whereabouts.

"I need you to find out where he is, how to get in contact with him, and anything else you can about him," Arthur said. For a quiet, inconspicuous Asian who looked more like a clean-cut college kid, Horace had an incredible network of people he knew and therefore, the information they had access to. He seemed to know what was going on all of the time, or at least someone who could tell him. Arthur had picked him up after he'd helped Horace out in a plagiarism case when he had been caught stealing and selling MCAT answers. He had worked for Arthur ever since.

"I'm still working on your pro bono case," Horace said. "By the way, I think you could turn it into a class action suit if you want."

Arthur perked up at the good news. "What makes you say that?" Class action cases, when won, nearly always resulted in lots of money and good advertisement for the firm involved because they involved so many people.

"There've been at least five other accidents along that stretch of road the last three years," Horace said. "Apparently, there's been a broken street light there for years that no one has bothered to fix. I can get you the other names if you want to get in contact with them."

"Sure. Get to that after you find out about Machado," Arthur said. "I'll see if it's worth pursuing."

Horace nodded and left. At least one thing was going right today.

Then Arthur had Angelique call over a technician from his security company to have a look at the system.

Unfortunately, it meant that the whole system and Arthur's entire network had to go down while it was being combed over. He had reverted to the primitive notebook and pencil when a worried looking man with chin-length brown hair came through the door.

"This is Toris Laurinaitis," Angelique said as she let him in.

"Excuse the mess," Arthur said, gesturing to the downed computers. "We're having some security checks today," he said as Toris sat down in the seat across from Arthur. "How may I help you?"

"I'm here about Eduard Von Bock's case," Toris said. "You've agreed to be his lawyer, right?"

Arthur stared at him. "What do you know about it?"

Toris took a deep breath. "I'm his brother."

"They never said he had a brother," Arthur said, confused.

"We immigrated separately," Toris said. "I came here illegally before he did." He looked even more apologetic.

Arthur closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. He'd gotten his hopes up too early that this would be an easy case. "Don't tell me any more," he said. "Talk to his lawyer when he gets one—I've decided not to take the case."

"But you haven't even heard—"

"I apologize, Mr. Laurinaitis," Arthur said, getting up and going to open the door for him. "I've got a lot of cases I'm working on at the moment, and I can't afford to take this one."

At this, Toris began wringing his hands. "No, you don't understand, Mr. Kirkland," he said. "You have to take the case. We had to pay to have the case referred to you—"

"You _what_?" Arthur demanded. He already had too much to deal with and he did not need any more complications.

"It's Ivan Braginsky," Toris blurted out. "He did that to Eduard."

Arthur let the door go and it slowly slid shut again. He sat back down. "Start talking," he said. "Now."

* * *

><p>It turned out that Toris had been working for Ivan for years. It had started when Ivan had helped Toris get into America, and using that as leverage, successfully forced Toris into his line of work. Using apparently less than legal money, Toris had managed to get Eduard and a third brother, Raivis, into America. Those two were more or less legally in the states although their business might not be. It turned out the three brothers had been trying to work their way out from under Ivan for ages now.<p>

"Eduard got a new job a few weeks ago with a movie production company," Toris said. "It was going to be his chance to get out."

"Get out?"

"They really liked his work and they were going to hire him," Toris said. "He was so worried that Ivan would find out. He only told me and Raivis what he was trying to do…"

"So you think his accident has something to do with Ivan?" Arthur asked.

"It's not the first time he's done it," Toris answered and trailed off.

Arthur frowned. "Are you telling me he's caused other accidents before? How?" He'd looked over the incident report and there was no mention of a second driver, nothing wrong with Eduard's car—no cut brake lines or anything of the sort. It had looked like one of those common late night accidents where the driver fell asleep at the wheel and crashed himself into the street light there. In fact, that was why Arthur assumed the streetlight had been broken to begin with.

"Petrol usually," Toris said. "Pour some of it along a road where the driver won't notice it—the car skids and everyone thinks the petrol leaked from the car after it crashed."

Of course a detailed investigation would probably reveal the true source of the accidents, but Arthur was also willing to bet that most of Ivan's victims and their family members wouldn't want to go to court against Ivan.

"I see…" Arthur said. "So the other accidents that have happened on that road…"

"Ivan's probably," Toris said. "I couldn't tell you for sure unless I knew the names."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help you," Arthur said. "If this involves Ivan—"

"But—"

"I represent Mr. Braginsky, Mr. Laurianitis," Arthur said. "I cannot take a client that would compromise my business with him."

Toris sighed but got to his feet. "I understand. Natalya—"

"Braginsky's sister?" Arthur said. "Is she involved?"

Toris looked surprised. "She helped Eduard get the job," he said.

"What job?" Arthur demanded. "How does she even know you three? She doesn't work for Braginsky—"

"I'm dating her!" Toris interrupted, and then turned bright red.

Arthur really stared at him this time. "You're _dating_ her?" he repeated. "But she—her and Braginsky—he wanted a restraining order!" he sputtered.

"It did take quite a lot of convincing," Toris said, blushing. "She finally said yes a few weeks ago! She was so happy she almost broke my fingers," he said, waving a heavily bandaged hand at Arthur. "She's amazing."

Alfred stopped himself from commenting on Natalya's mental wellness and refocused the conversation on something he was very interested to learn. "So Natalya wasn't involved with Eduard's accident then?"

Toris shook his head. "Oh no, she was gone most last week," he said. "She was in Cuba to take care of some business."

"What kind of business?" Arthur asked.

Toris looked even more apologetic at that. "She said she was going to…"

"Going to _what_?" Arthur said.

"…going to blackmail a lawyer into helping us," Toris said and looked up at Arthur. "You."

Arthur just stared at Toris blankly, unable to think of anything to say. It turned out he and Alfred were both wrong and Natalya had been the one to stalk and blackmail them—all to help these three brothers. Having seen Natalya, Arthur had no doubt that Natalya's personal motivations probably involved more than just helping out the brothers. But at least Arthur knew two things—one, he could breath easy as far as his reputation went because Natalya couldn't turn in any information she might know about him and his cases in to the courts—not without also dragging Ivan into the spotlight. And two, Alfred hadn't been involved. The second more than the first made Arthur feel incredibly relieved.

"You tried to blackmail me into helping you," he repeated.

Toris had started turning red. "It—it was just in case," he said. "Natalya was just supposed to put some pressure on you—Ivan too, I guess. She wanted him to know she was meeting the state prosecutor and lift the restraining order." He looked at Arthur. "I had no idea Ivan would find out about Eduard…"

Arthur closed his eyes. "So you stalk me, break into my security system, steal security footage, tap my phones, and try to blackmail me with pictures, and you want me to help you?" he said.

Instead of guilty though, Toris only looked confused. "What are you talking about? She just said she knew enough about Ivan to…she had your security system—_Eduard_…" A look of comprehension and then horror dawned on Toris's face.

"What?"

"Natalya must have had Eduard help her get into your system," Toris said. "That's the sort of thing he did for Ivan too—but if Ivan found out about it…"

Arthur felt cold. "Does Ivan know about the security footage?" he asked slowly.

"I don't—I don't know," Toris said, sounding just as shaky.

"Where were Natalya and Eduard keeping them?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"They weren't at Eduard's place when I looked. Maybe they're at Natalya's—"

Arthur pulled on his jacket and grabbed his mobile. Then he turned to Toris. "You. Take me to Natalya's apartment. _Now_."

Toris nodded.

* * *

><p>Arthur dialled Alfred's number as he sat in the passenger's seat of Toris's beat up old car, cursing New York City traffic and praying they'd get there faster. He didn't want to think about what might happen if Ivan found out he'd been meeting Alfred. Even if Arthur hadn't really done anything to jeopardize Ivan's business, he wouldn't put it past Ivan to make sure Arthur was in no shape to get involved with his business anymore.<p>

"What?" Arthur heard Alfred's clipped voice as soon as he picked up.

He panicked and hung up.

Shit. Fuck. He hadn't thought of what to say to Alfred—especially not after the way he'd shouted at him the night before. He'd deal with the situation on his own first and call Alfred later, he decided. He didn't think too deeply about why he was less afraid of potentially seeing Ivan at Natalya's apartment than of trying to talk to Alfred.

Unfortunately, Alfred, as usual, couldn't let Arthur's plans alone.

Arthur jumped when his phone buzzed and fumbled it, accidentally rejecting the call as he did. "_Shit!_" he cursed. Now Alfred was going to be even angrier with him.

Before Arthur could debate the pros and cons of trying to return Alfred's call though, his phone buzzed again, flashing Alfred's ID on the screen. Arthur took a deep breath and answered it.

"Hello?" he said, voice sounding shakier than he wanted.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yes… what?" Arthur said, confused. Alfred sounded worried of all things.

"I thought something happened to you," Alfred said. "Especially when you wouldn't pick up." Arthur could hear him exhale. "Ivan hasn't kidnapped you or anything?"

"No, of course not," Arthur said quickly. "I just—look, about last night—I found out you'd been meeting Natalya in Cuba."

Alfred was silent for too long before Arthur heard him exhale again. "Yeah, I was," he said. "So what? You thought I was working with her to blackmail you?"

"You _are_ working with her," Arthur said.

"On other things. I had no idea she was going to—"

"We're here," Toris said.

"I'll call you later," Arthur said.

"What? Where are you?" Alfred said.

"Natalya's apartment," Arthur said. "We'll talk later," he said and hung up.

Natalya lived in an old apartment above a Value Depot in Little Odessa. Arthur followed Toris past the bright umbrella stands covering cheap, on sale clothing, and into an ugly brown door with a knob so rusted it looked like it might crumble into pieces.

"She lives here with Katyushka," Toris said. "Her sister," he added when Arthur only gave him a blank look.

The staircase up the apartment was old with flickering, fluorescent lights. They walked up two flights of steps before Toris stopped in front of a door that had lost its number plating a long time ago. He knocked and waited.

If Arthur's place had audio bugs everywhere, Natalya's apartment didn't need them because the walls were so thin he could hear everything including the breathy gasp and the patter of footsteps.

"Hello—oh, it's you, Toris!"

The woman who opened the door was not Natalya but one with the most ample bosom Arthur had ever seen outside of pornos. It took him a moment to stop staring. When he finally moved his eyes up to her face, he found himself looking at someone vaguely reminiscent of Ivan but pretty and with a smaller nose.

"This is Katyushka," Toris introduced them. "Is Natalya here?" he asked.

"Oh no, she stepped out to get some groceries," Katyushka said.

"Um… has Ivan been here?" Arthur asked.

"Not today," Katyushka said, furrowing her brow. "Did you want to see him? Natalya can't, you know…"

"No, that's great," Arthur said quickly.

"Could we take a look in Natalya's room?" Toris asked. "I left something here last time."

Katyushka brightened. "Of course," she said. "Can I get you anything to drink? To eat?"

"Oh, no thank you," Arthur said quickly. "We're just here to pick it up and we'll get out of your hair."

He followed Toris into a small bedroom that looked about the same state as the rest of the apartment. The paint was peeling off the walls and there was a large yellow stain on the ceiling. Apart from a tiny bed with mismatched sheeting, an old crooked wardrobe, and a narrow closet, there was nothing else in the room. A quick look in the closet showed it was empty except for a small suitcase, a pair of shoes, and two empty handgun cases. Considering Natalya was someone _Ivan_ had to file a restraining order against, Arthur wasn't completely surprised.

On the bed, there was a pamphlet on the law system that she had probably gotten from the courthouse. Other than that, there was only a rather scrunched up copy of the court order keeping her away from Ivan.

"They're not here," Toris said. "They weren't at Eduard's apartment so I thought they must be…"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the wardrobe and went over to pull the first drawer open.

Toris let out a squawk. "You can't do that—a girl's clothes, I mean—"

"Belt up," Arthur snapped. "If you didn't want me to go through her things, you shouldn't have bugged my fucking apartment."

The first drawer held a few sweaters. The second held several pairs of jeans. The third held a variety of lacy panties and bras, and Arthur hit the jackpot. Hidden beneath a black bra, he found an old manila folder with several old documents in it and a blank CD.

"I found it," Arthur said. He expected his name that had been printed on the folder in neat handwriting, but when he looked at the documents, his heart stopped.

* * *

><p><em><strong>KIRKLAND &amp; SONS<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>MEMORANDOM<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Privileged &amp; Confidential<em>

_**TO: **_All Associates – All Offices  
><em><strong>FROM: <strong>_A. Kirkland  
><em><strong>RE: <strong>_Regarding Henry VIII—Possible Informant

_As we are all aware, the Henry VIII case will be going to court in two weeks. We have been working the case with an insanity defense, but we have recently had contact from an informant, nicknamed Winter, who has new evidence..._

* * *

><p>The fancy letterhead was all too familiar, as was the texture of the paper in his hands. In fact, Arthur could remember sitting down in his office and typing this very memo—far more polite than the curses he'd let out when he'd found importance evidence had been leaked on his very last case in England. He began flipping through the rest of the papers. They were scattered things—a few memos from even older cases Arthur had worked when he'd still been in the firm, but primarily, they were documents from the Henry VIII case. How on earth had Natalya gotten hold of these?<p>

"Mr. Kirkland?" Toris asked. "Is that—"

They both froze as they heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Arthur shut the folder, looking around for any place to hide.

"Katyushka, we aren't here. Don't let anyone know," Toris said in a hurried whisper, and then pulled Arthur into Natalya's tiny closet together.

"Will she—"

"I don't know," Toris whispered and pulled the door shut as much as he could from the inside.

The closet stank strongly of mothballs despite being near empty, and Arthur could feel the throb in his shin where he'd accidentally kicked over one of the handgun cases. A tiny sliver of light came through the crack in the closet door, and a moment later, the knock came.

"Yes? Oh, Ivan! You're visiting? Natalya is not here."

Arthur clutched the folder to his chest, heart beating fast as Katyushka greet Ivan.

"I am not here to see her," Ivan said. "Is Toris here?"

"Toris?" Katyushka asked. "No, he was here last night, but he left early this morning," she said.

Arthur thought he could hear a tremor in her voice, but he hoped he was just imagining it because if Ivan found him here with Toris…

"I think I will check, da?" Ivan said.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked and then Arthur heard Natalya's bedroom door swing open. A shadow blocked the light coming into the closet as Ivan walked in front of the closet. The blood thundered in his ears. He tried to remember if he'd closed the drawer, and if Ivan would think anything strange if it had been left open. The shadow moved away again, and Arthur heard the rustle of paper—he must be looking through the things left on Natalya's bed. Arthur clutched his manila folder a little tighter.

Then he heard the unmistakable slap of the papers being dropped back down on her bed. Arthur swallowed hard. He could kick the door open now. Take Ivan by surprise and run. But even if he managed to escape Ivan now, he would know Arthur was here and track him down. If he stayed still, maybe Ivan would, by some miracle, not check the closet. But if he did, Arthur would be completely cornered. For the first time, Arthur truly appreciated Alfred's words about taking on criminal clients. Ivan was likely to kill Arthur if he found him here.

The shadow paused in front of the closet door and Arthur readied himself to kick it down and run for his life.

Then he heard footsteps thunder up the stairs, and a bang as the front door burst open.

Katyushka screamed and the shadow immediately moved away.

"Katyushka?"

"Braginsky!"

Arthur was near tears from the relief he felt when he recognized Alfred's loud, resonant voice.

"Jones," Ivan said. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to see Natalya, of course," Alfred said. He didn't explain himself. "Is she here?"

"What do you want with my sister?" Ivan asked.

"Braginsky, man, she's a grown woman." Arthur could hear the infuriating grin that was on Alfred's face. "She can make her own choices."

"If you are—"

"What are _you_ doing here?" Alfred said, his tone of voice gone steely. "You're the one who put a restraining order on her. If she's not here now, she will be soon, and that order…"

There was a long silence, and Arthur wished he could see what was going on. A moment later, though, he heard Ivan again.

"Tell Natalya to stay away from him," he said, presumably to Katyushka.

Then the footsteps retreated and the door slammed shut.

Arthur stayed still, afraid Ivan might come back in, but after a moment, he heard Alfred quietly apologize to Katyushka for bursting in.

"Is Arthur here?" Alfred asked. "Arthur? Ar—"

Arthur burst out of the closet, and he told himself it was only out of gratefulness that he all but flung himself at Alfred, catching just a glimpse of his worried face, before Alfred had wrapped his arms tight around him.

Arthur didn't even realize he was shaking until Alfred started rubbing his back. "Did he find you? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Arthur said, still bursting with adrenaline. He could smell the clean detergent and faint aftershave on Alfred's shirt, feel the comforting warmth of his arms. "You got here before—I—" He shoved Alfred back and looked down at the manila folder he'd forgotten he was clutching. "This—Toris, where did you get this?"

Toris jumped as Arthur turned, brandishing the folder. "What?"

"_These_," Arthur said, the burst of relief short-lived. "My old—they have files on my old court cases!" he said. "How did you get these?" he demanded, glaring at Toris.

Toris shook his head. "I-I don't know," he said. "Is the surveillance in there?"

"No," Arthur said. "Where would they have—"

"You know for sure Natalya has surveillance?" Alfred interrupted, and Toris nodded.

"She would at least know where my brother was keeping it," he said.

"Fine," Alfred said. "I'll contact her and ask," he said.

"My files, Alfred," Arthur said.

Alfred looked down at him. "Let's talk about this elsewhere," he said, looking at the door. "If Ivan comes back…"

It took all of Arthur's self-control not to demand answers right then and there, but he knew Alfred was right. "Fine."

"Toris, was it?" Alfred said. "I want everything you and Natalya have on us at Arthur's place as soon as possible," he said, and Toris nodded again. "Arthur, I'm taking you home."

Arthur let Alfred guide him out the door. There was something off about this whole situation, but apart from the obvious, he couldn't place exactly what it was.

"So who _is_ Toris?" Alfred asked once he'd started driving away. Leaving Little Odessa behind, Arthur felt suddenly exhausted and slumped back in his seat.

"A client," Arthur said. "Maybe. What did you meet Natalya for in Cuba?"

Alfred exhaled. "She promised to give me information on Braginsky and his operations."

Arthur froze. "She gave you information on him?" That was the last thing he'd thought Natalya would do.

"Not yet," Alfred said. "I think it was a failed attempt to put pressure on Braginsky. She told me she wanted to get the restraining order lifted—she was probably hoping he would find out I'd met her in Cuba and feel threatened enough to keep her close," he said. "I never heard about Toris or those brothers."

He pulled up to Arthur's building, and Arthur didn't stop him when Alfred followed him right up to his apartment. Arthur was too exhausted to even think about work for at least a few hours until he could clear his mind about this whole tangled situation, and figure out what to do next.

"I'm going to shower," Arthur said. "And if you're going to stay, don't touch anything," he added, and slapped Alfred's hands away from where they'd been inching toward a vase someone had given Arthur as a thank you gift. "I mean it, Alfred."

Even though he was in such deep shit by now, that he was pretty Alfred couldn't make it any worse even if he read all of Arthur's confidential files on Ivan Braginsky, he didn't need the added stress.

"Okay, okay," Alfred said, holding his hands up. "I won't touch anything." He took a seat on the bed instead, and Arthur felt a small, Pavlovian twinge of excitement watching him, even though this was not the time or place.

He ignored it and went into his bathroom, stripping quickly out of all his clothes and stepping into the shower. As soon as the hot water hit his body, he felt better, and he shut his eyes, letting the water pour over his body and relax him.

First, Toris and his brothers had been trying to blackmail Arthur, and apparently Alfred, into helping them get out from under Ivan Braginsky. He didn't know how Juan Machado was connected.

Second, Natalya was either trying to get Ivan to lift the restraining order, or else was helping the brothers get out from under him, but with the two contrasting testimonies, Arthur wasn't sure which.

Third, Natalya had old, confidential files of Arthur's from back when he had still been based in England.

He had to talk to Natalya and figure out just what it was that she wanted and what she knew about him.

He had been so deep in thought that, he jumped when he heard the shower door rattling open, and turned just in time to see Alfred's glorious, naked body get drenched with water as he walked in behind Arthur.

"What are you doing?" Arthur said, all other thoughts flying out of his head.

Alfred grinned at him, squinting a little without his glasses on. "I got bored waiting," he said. "You said I couldn't touch anything except you."

Well, this was one way to keep Alfred out of trouble, Arthur thought—probably the best way, for that matter. "I never said that last part, you prat," he said, but only struggled half-heartedly when Alfred pulled him close.

He grinned, bending to nudge his nose against Arthur's. "It was implied," he said, and kissed him.

It had only been a few days since he'd last touched Alfred, but it felt like it had been an eternity, and Arthur leaned into it. He could feel Alfred's hands, big, around his waist, and he let himself give in, opening his mouth to Alfred's lead. His skin was warm under Arthur's fingers, and he didn't even realize Alfred had been slowly backing him into the shower until the water spray hit Arthur full in the face from up above, interrupting the kiss. Opening his eyes, he saw that Alfred had also been drenched and his hair, usually parted, was far too long because wet, it all hung in a straight sheet, obscuring his eyes entirely.

Arthur found himself chuckling as he pushed Alfred's wet hair back and met his crinkle-eyed grin, so blue this close up. Something about him looked familiar, like déjà vu. "Time for a haircut, I think," he said, dismissing the thought.

Alfred laughed and pulled him close again to kiss him, this time mouthing his way down Arthur's neck, swirling his thumb around Arthur's nipple. Arthur shivered at the sensation, involuntary, and let his eyes slide shut again. Then Alfred was going lower. He could already feel himself throbbing with anticipation when the hand closed around his cock, and Arthur made an embarrassingly needy noise as his hips jerked.

He could feel Alfred's grin, pressed against his skin, just before he felt a finger trace his entrance, oddly slick. Then he recognized the scent.

"Conditioner?" Arthur said, incredulous, as he stared at Alfred.

"You're really going to make me go out there and find your lube right now?" Alfred said, and any of Arthur's protests were lost when he pushed two fingers in. It was like Alfred had memorized a map of Arthur's body because those talented fingers went straight for his prostrate, hitting it dead on and Arthur was forced to clutch Alfred's shoulders for dear life as he fingered Arthur with the same sort of urgent, too-fast pace that he had come to associate with Alfred.

Arthur pushed himself against Alfred, craving more of something—_anything_—but the water made everything slippery and he couldn't find any purchase. Alfred seemed to get the hint, and he pulled his fingers out, hiking Arthur up by the hips to rut against him, pushing him up against the wall, which only made it more frustrating. As hard as it was for Arthur to hold onto Alfred, it was even harder for Alfred to keep him up, and Arthur was sure, at one point, when Alfred slipped, that he was going to crack his head open in the shower and he'd win a Darwin award for the world's most idiotic death.

"Wait, wait," Arthur said, and Alfred stopped, looking at him expectantly until Arthur caught hold of the showerhead, and pulled himself up. It gave him just enough purchase for Alfred to hold him up—Arthur felt Alfred's fingers stretching him open again—and then Alfred pushed in.

It felt so good that Arthur's strength failed him for a second, and it was only due to Alfred's quick reflexes that he didn't really crack his skull open against the shower wall. "Okay there, babe?" Alfred asked, grinning, as Arthur looped one arm around Alfred's neck, the other still holding tight to the showerhead.

"Shut u-ah—"

Arthur's protest turned into a moan as Alfred shoved into him, and he had to work to keep his legs locked tight around Alfred's hips. Like this, Alfred felt twice as big inside him, Arthur forced to clench up in that position, and he could feel Alfred shudder every time Arthur tightened up. Alfred's thrusts were shaky and erratic, forced to pause every so often to hike Arthur up again, but he'd plunge right back in, so enthusiastic that Arthur could barely breath.

It was too hot in the shower. The steam that had felt so good before, was now suffocating as Alfred fucked him, hitting a rhythm so that he barely drew out at all before pushing Arthur up again with quick, shallow thrusts.

Arthur was close, so close. He sobbed for a touch on his cock, but he couldn't move with one hand around the showerhead, and the other looped tight around Alfred's neck, scrabbling on his water-slick shoulder. "Alfred, _please_—"

Alfred slammed against his prostrate, and Arthur came undone, his voice lost in the steady pounding of the water against him—

He felt the showerhead give before he heard the grind and clank as the entire thing abruptly came off in his hand. Arthur scrambled, dropping the showerhead and trying to balance himself against the wall, but his hand kept slipping. He tightened around Alfred in his panic, and of all things, he felt Alfred come inside him.

"Alfred F. Jo—"

Arthur's protest was lost when Alfred stumbled and flattened him against a wall. The water gushing down on them now, as Alfred slid right down to his knees, pulling Arthur down to the ground with him.

It took Arthur a few moments of confused sputtering before Alfred recovered enough to pull back, though only enough so he could look at Arthur. He could still feel Alfred's shallow breathing, water dripping off the tip of his nose, as he gave Arthur a sheepish grin.

"You didn't even put on a condom, you bloody tosser," Arthur said, even though he hadn't exactly made Alfred go back out to get one either. He wriggled in Alfred's hold, but Alfred made no move to get up, only twisting his head back enough to glance at the broken remains of Arthur's showerhead.

"We broke your shower," Alfred said, sounding a combination of rueful and proud.

"That was the worst sex I've ever had," Arthur said.

"I don't know, besides the ending, the rest of it was pretty good," Alfred said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Arthur could see the corners of Alfred's mouth twitching, and then they were both laughing as the water poured down on them, laughing and kissing, and for at least that moment, Arthur thought everything would be okay.

* * *

><p>Later that afternoon, when Arthur woke from his light doze in his bed with Alfred wrapped around him, he knew he had put it off long enough. It took some prodding to loosen Alfred's arms enough so he could get up, and he felt a wave of affection for him when Alfred's mouth opened and he let out a small snore before wrinkling his nose and rolling over to go right back to sound sleep.<p>

Arthur sighed, trying to keep the grin off his face as he went to get his laptop. He brought both that and the blank CD he'd found in Natalya's folder back to bed with him. Sitting on the sheets next to Alfred, propped against the headboard, he began to look through the files on the CD. It was, as he had dreaded, a long list of files that were all too familiar—file after file of Kirkland & Sons old cases from when Arthur had still been working there. Most of them were in incomplete bits and pieces, but one case in particular, was near complete with all the research, briefs, paperwork—the Henry VIII case. And worse than that, there were files in there that Arthur had never seen pertaining to that case—files documenting parts of that man's past that Arthur had never been able to find, and one name that stood out in everything—Winter.

Arthur leaned back and shut his eyes as he thought.

Back then, Winter had been an anonymous informant. Arthur had never met the man, and the only contact he'd ever had with him had been through a teenage kid who had probably been hired to pass him the information. Arthur didn't know anything about this "Winter" other than that he had privileged information about Henry VIII's business, and he claimed that Henry VIII had ties with a Russian gang.

That had been the whole problem. At first, Arthur had intended to work on the case from a guilty but insane angle. He'd been completely convinced that Henry VIII was guilty, until Winter had showed up and presented the tips that hinted at a connection with the Russian gang. Between the pressure from his brothers at the possibility of getting Henry VIII off completely and winning them an insane amount of money, and the promise of the tips, Arthur had tried to argue, foolishly, that Henry VIII had been innocent.

The man had been convicted, and Arthur had fled England, angry with himself for losing the case, but knowing he'd have been just as upset if he'd won. He'd completely forgotten about the "Winter" informant, thinking that he'd probably been a man after fame or someone hired by the opposition to trip him up—until now.

It was too big of a coincidence that his files from the Henry VIII case should be in Natalya Braginsky's things.

Arthur bit his lip as he looked down at Alfred. He had no idea what Alfred saw in him. While Arthur wasn't shabby by any means, whatever Francis might claim, he also knew full well that Francis had been right when he said everyone wanted Alfred right now—both law firms, and, Arthur had no doubt, hoards of better-looking, richer women and men. Arthur had a past that he wasn't proud of, and even though Alfred had sort of involved himself in Arthur's business, there was no reason Alfred should want all of the complications and baggage that came with Arthur.

But somehow, he had managed to get this gorgeous, talented, incredible man interested in him—at least physically. And where Arthur wouldn't have thought twice about making Alfred risk his neck for him a couple weeks ago, now he felt oddly reluctant.

Arthur took a deep breath, and then shook Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred made an incoherent noise, but turned toward Arthur, his eyes crinkling open. "Huh?"

Arthur inhaled. "Alfred," he said, and he must have looked serious enough that Alfred gave him his full attention now, freezing in his position as he stared up at Arthur. "I know…I know I don't have the right to ask you," he said. "But I need your help investigating Braginsky."

"Ivan Braginsky?" Alfred said. He frowned and slowly sat up, looking intently at Arthur. "He's your client."

"I know, but…" Arthur looked down at his laptop and the files still open on it. "I think…this is ridiculous, but I think he was involved in a case I worked a long time ago," he said. "Before I came here." He looked back up at Alfred. "I need to know how," he said. "You have access to that information."

Alfred took a deep breath and let it out slowly again.

"You want me to break half a dozen laws to get you confidential information," Alfred said, watching him so intently that Arthur couldn't help fidgeting under the scrutiny.

He nodded.

"And you know that you could lose your license selling out your client," Alfred said.

Arthur hesitated. But if there really was something more to that Henry VIII case back then, he had to know. More than wanting revenge if Ivan had been in some way responsible for ruining his career, more than wanting to get out from the shadow of Kirkland & Sons, there was something more that Arthur hadn't felt in a long time.

"I need to know the truth," Arthur said.

Alfred's answering smile confirmed Arthur's decision. "Then it's a deal," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Scotland = William, Wales = Rhys, N. Ireland = Conor**

* * *

><p>"You're happy this morning," Horace said.<p>

Arthur jumped and looked up at his investigator who was leaning against the open door of Arthur's office, watching him. Arthur scowled, but he could feel his face blushing hot. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about, boy. What do you want?"

Arthur had had to force himself downstairs that morning so he would concentrate on reviewing the Henry VIII case. Although Alfred had left early that morning so he could look into the DA's files on Ivan Braginsky, Arthur still felt that cosy, irrational giddiness that he didn't think he'd ever felt for anyone before until Alfred. Regardless of their current situation, his mind kept drifting back to Alfred, his crinkle-eyed grin, the huskiness of his voice when he was fucking Arthur into oblivion, the warm touch of his big hands on Arthur's waist.

Last night, regardless of their precarious situation, Arthur had slept like the dead, tangled in his sheets and Alfred wrapped around him. Even though he knew Alfred probably couldn't do much to protect him if Ivan broke in and attacked, Arthur still felt irrationally safe and happy. Even with Alfred gone, he still couldn't concentrate on his work and Arthur had _never_ had this happen to him before. He was a professional, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I looked into Juan Machado," Horace said, though he still looked far too amused, and Arthur should not be squirming in front of his college-aged investigator. "He's mostly in business for cigars—illegal cigars," he said. "Rumours were that he wanted to go straight, but it looks like he went on the run after your trip."

"He's gone?" Arthur asked, straightening up. "But he was blackmailing…you're sure?"

Horace shrugged. "I can dig more if you want, but his landlady says she hasn't seen him for a week at least," he said. "I got into his flat and it doesn't look like anyone's been there recently."

Arthur frowned. It made no sense for the Cuban to suddenly disappear after he had gone to all the trouble to blackmail Arthur into helping him. In fact, although he had been too busy to worry much about him, it was strange that Juan Machado would send him all those pictures, vaguely ask for help regarding Ivan Braginsky, but disappear before Arthur could do anything.

"All right, your new priority is to find out where he is," Arthur said. He twirled his pen around his fingers twice, and then looked up again. "You might check with the coroners and see if any unidentified bodies have turned up recently as well."

Horace nodded.

"And Horace, be careful," Arthur said. "If you…if you see Ivan Braginsky anywhere near where you're investigating, get out of there and let me know immediately."

"All right," Horace said and left the office.

Arthur exhaled.

This was no time to be daydreaming. He had work to do.

The next thing Arthur did was to catch a cab to Bonnefoy, Carriedo & Beilschmidt. He went straight for Gilbert's office and shoved the door open, ignoring the drawn curtains.

"Beilschmidt," Arthur said, striding in.

Gilbert, who had been consulting with a client, cursed. "What the fuck, Kirkland?" he said. "Did you not see the curtains, you asshole!"

Arthur ignored him and glared at the timid looking man sitting across Gilbert's desk until he scurried out.

"This better be fucking important," Gilbert said, glaring at Arthur.

"It is," Arthur said. "What do you know about Braginsky's business in Europe?" he asked.

Gilbert's expression gave nothing away. "What part of attorney-client privilege do you not understand? How the hell did you pass the bar exam?"

"I mean it, Beilschmidt," Arthur said. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he needed Gilbert to cooperate, and let it out. "How much do you know about the Henry VIII case in England?"

"The one from a few years ago?" Gilbert asked, expression carefully neutral.

"I was the head lawyer on that case," Arthur said. "I know Braginsky was involved somehow," he said. "I need to know—" He swallowed. "I need to know how."

"Why?" Gilbert asked. "What's it to you? That was years ago."

"I think it's related to the accidents on Bramer Road," Arthur said. "Eduard Von Bock—"

"Did you say Bramer Road?" Gilbert interrupted. All traces of previous calm had disappeared and now he was staring intently at Arthur, red eyes pinned on him. "What about it?"

"An Eduard Von Bock had an accident there a few days ago," Arthur said. "He's in a coma now, but his brother claims Ivan Braginsky set it up. And it's not the first time he's done it," he said. "I need information to…to…"

"You're Braginsky's lawyer," Gilbert said. "You know no matter what he might have done in your previous life in the UK, you can't use any of the information you have on him."

Arthur felt like he was being interrogated, but he wasn't sure why. "Not the material that directly relates to the cases I've worked on for him, no," he said. "What happened the UK has nothing to do with it. Neither does nay of his illegal activities."

Gilbert leaned back in his chair, watching Arthur. "And you know if you go against him, he'll take care of you the same way he did that Von Bock guy," he said. "Or someone you care about."

Arthur didn't like how his mind immediately jumped to Alfred, and he reminded himself that first, he and Alfred might not have a strictly professional relationship, but aside from having shockingly good sex, he and Alfred weren't even in a relationship—much less one that should warrant Arthur worrying about him. "I doubt Braginsky would go to the UK to track down my family, and if they did, I'd hardly care," Arthur said.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Don't say that unless you mean it," he said. He paused. "You're sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"I have to know," Arthur said. If Ivan was the cause of everything that had happened in the UK, exactly what _had_ happened there—he needed answers.

"Fine," Gilbert said. "I'll help you on one condition," he said. "If you put Braginsky behind bars, it has to be permanent. You better have an airtight case or we're all dead."

"I'm not a fucking idiot," Arthur said. "Agreed. Now what do you know?"

Gilbert got up and went to an actual filing cabinet, pulling out an enormously fat file and tossing it on the desk. "There's everything I have on Braginsky," he said.

"Everything?" Arthur said, staring at the overflowing folder. "You're giving me everything?" He had hoped to convince Gilbert into helping, but he hadn't expected this sort of generosity. "What's in this for you?" he asked.

"Bramer Road," Gilbert said and jerked his chin at the folder. "You remember my baby brother, Ludwig?"

Arthur vaguely remembered Gilbert did have a brother, but he'd never met the man, and from what little he'd gathered, he was some kind of invalid or something. "What about him?"

"It happened a year or two before you came to the States," Gilbert said. "Ludwig was my assistant here and he…let some information slip to the police about Braginsky," he said. "He got in an accident on Bramer Road a week later and he's been in a coma since also. Some kind of coincidence, huh," he said and looked back up at Arthur. "I always thought Braginsky had something to do with it but never had proof." He sighed. "Put him behind bars," he said.

Arthur nodded and reached out to pick up the entire fat file folder.

"And Arthur," Gilbert said as he turned to leave. "If you get caught with that, you broke in here and stole it, right? It had nothing to do with me."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course," he said and left.

* * *

><p>The next thing Arthur did was book a ticket for a flight out to London. If he wanted to investigate, he'd need to go back home and take a good long look at all the old case files from back then. He'd also feel safer if he put some distance between himself and Ivan while he looked everything over.<p>

"I'm coming with you," Alfred said as soon as Arthur told him when he came to visit that night. He had brought the files that he had on Ivan Braginsky, though there wasn't much related to the Henry VIII case as that had happened in the UK.

"Alfred, you have work," Arthur said.

"I'll work from there," Alfred said, loosening his tie and tossing it on Arthur's bed like he lived there.

Arthur sighed but picked the tie up, folding it and putting it on the side table. "You work for the DA's office," he said. "You can't just take off whenever you bloody feel like it."

"We don't know how much Braginsky knows and I don't like you being alone," Alfred said in that tone of voice that Arthur could now recognize as Alfred's stubborn tone and that he would not back down no matter what anyone said.

Arthur wasn't sure if he felt more frustrated or fond of Alfred. "And exactly what can you do if Braginsky _does_ follow me to England, Mr. Jones?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't exactly got an arsenal or a mafia."

"No, but I'm pretty sure I could take Braginsky in a fistfight," Alfred said.

"He's got _guns_, Alfred," Arthur said.

Alfred shrugged. "I have a fighting chance at least," he said. "I can bring guns if that makes you feel better."

"Those are illegal in the UK," Arthur reminded him.

"Hey, if Braginsky can smuggle them in, I'm sure I can find a way," Alfred said.

Arthur wasn't sure if he was being serious or not, but either way, he found himself smiling. "You're very sweet, but that's not the answer," he said, letting Alfred wrap his arms around his waist and kissed him back when Alfred leaned down.

Alfred drew back just far enough to look Arthur dead in the eyes. "I'm serious," he said. "I want to go with you."

Arthur gave in. "Fine," he said. "But do try to behave while we're there," he said. "I'll have to see my family again, and I don't need you bollocksing up anything else if I have to deal with them."

"Deal!" Alfred said, beaming at Arthur.

Arthur pushed him away and went to his desk, picking up his mobile to dial up the number he'd been dreading all day to do.

"Who are you calling?" Alfred asked.

Arthur held up a finger to shut Alfred up. But no one picked up on the other end. The phone rang six times before it went to voicemail, and Arthur was sure he'd never felt more relieved before.

"Mr. Braginsky?" Arthur said. "This is Arthur Kirkland, your lawyer. I regret to inform you that I will have to cease being your representation. An urgent family situation has come up and I will have to be in the UK for awhile. If you would like to stop by the office, Angelique can walk you through the termination agreement, and give you a list of recommended law firms. I am sorry again for the sudden notice. It was a pleasure representing you."

He hung up. Arthur hadn't even realized he'd been shaking until he did. He hadn't realized just how much Ivan Braginsky stressed him out until he realized right then, that he no longer had to deal with the Russian. It was over—at least in terms of Arthur's legal representation—if he met Ivan again, it would be on opposite sides of the courtroom.

Before he could even put the phone down, Arthur had all the breath knocked out of him when Alfred pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "I knew I could get you to change your mind!" Alfred said joyfully and spun him around as Arthur panicked, scrambling to hold onto Alfred's shoulders.

"Alfred F. Jones, put me down this instant!" Arthur shouted. He felt himself lose balance and yelped as Alfred laughed and tipped them both back onto the bed.

"You idiot! Let go!" Arthur struggled half-heartedly to shove Alfred off him, but all Alfred did was lean forward and peck him on the nose. Arthur felt his face heating up again and when he glanced up, Alfred's eyes were all out of focus because of the glasses hanging by his ears.

Arthur couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of him as he pulled Alfred's glasses off.

Then Alfred leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

><p>After several hours of fabulous fucking, a hurried shower, and even more hurried packing, Arthur and Alfred were at the JFK airport, boarding Flight 872 heading for London Heathrow. Clutching a small, business carry-on in one hand, and his boarding pass in the other, Arthur was beginning to feel nervous for entirely different reasons this time.<p>

"It'll be fine," Alfred said. "That was such short notice, Braginsky won't know what flight we're on, and I doubt he'll figure out what you're in London for."

"It's not that," Arthur said. "It's…it's my family," he admitted.

It had been three years since he'd last spoken to, much less seen any of his three brothers. Ever since the Henry VIII case that had ruined Arthur's career and that had cast a dark shadow on the Kirkland law firm, his brothers had all but kicked him out of the firm. Arthur, with his broken pride, had never looked back once he went to America. Arthur had had no intentions of ever going back to London—much less to the old law firm—and he still hadn't actually told anyone he was returning yet.

The last thing he remembered was his brothers giving him the resignation letter they'd already written for him, and telling him to get out. He had no idea what he was going to do once he went back, and he was quickly working himself into a state of panic.

"Maybe we should just…break in," Arthur said. "At night. No one's even thought about that case for years. I'm sure they won't notice if the files go missing," he said.

Alfred laughed and pulled Arthur's ticket out of his hand to thread his fingers through Arthur's. "It'll be fine," he said. "I'm with you, aren't I?" Alfred looked utterly ridiculous in jeans and a college sweatshirt, with a hideous polka-dotted travel pillow stuck around his neck, and even then, he still made Arthur feel better.

"You don't know what happened," Arthur muttered, but let Alfred lead him up to the flight attendant, handing both their boarding passes over, and then into the jet bridge. "Oh God, they don't even know I'm coming yet." His hand jerked in Alfred's, and he felt Alfred hold it a little tighter.

"It'll be fine," Alfred repeated. "Once they know what this is about, they'll want it sorted out as much as you do," he said. His smile was firm and reassuring, and Arthur willed himself to calm down.

"You're right," he said and nodded, trying to convince himself. Still, he spent the whole flight going over the files he'd brought with him, while Alfred passed out snoring on Arthur's shoulder.

By the time they arrived in London eight hours later, Arthur was feeling distinctly wired and sleep-deprived, while Alfred just seemed stiff from the cramped space and kept stretching and yawning. He looked nothing like a twenty-six year old hotshot lawyer with his hair sticking all over the place and a vague shadow around his face where he needed to shave, and Arthur felt a wave of affection for him.

"Come on, let's find a hotel," Arthur said after they'd exchanged some currency for pocket money, and headed for the nearest hotel shuttle he saw. It was late morning in London which meant it was several hours past midnight in the states, and Alfred looked about as sleepy as Arthur felt, so instead of heading straight in to London, they boarded the shuttle for a nearby Hilton.

It had been ages since Arthur had been in London and although he had built a wonderful practice and home for himself in New York, it still wasn't London where he had grown up all his life. Heathrow was in a quiet section of London, but the buildings, the narrow roads, even the street signs were all familiar.

"Did you sleep at all?" Alfred asked as the shuttle pulled up to the hotel.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I need a bed," he said, picking up his carry-on as they got off the shuttle and went inside. "I can't sleep on those bloody planes."

Arthur had a short internal debate about whether he should get himself and Alfred separate rooms, but Alfred ended that when he bypassed Arthur and booked them a single room with just one bed. Arthur was too exhausted to bother arguing with him—at least for now—and accepted one of the keys that Alfred handed him.

"Hungry? Do you want to eat at the restaurant or order in?" Alfred asked as they took the elevator up to the third floor.

"Let's stay in," Arthur said, too tired and stressed to want anything but the comfort of his privacy.

Their room was nice, if smaller than what Arthur was used to now after having lived in the states for long. They had one queen bed, and very nice wood panelling, and Alfred started up the coffee maker as soon as he walked in, still yawning.

"I'm going to shower," Arthur said and Alfred nodded, moving sleepily toward the room service menu, and leaving Arthur alone for once.

Arthur still hadn't decided what would be the best way to break the news to his brothers. He could call first and give proper notice, or just show up and hope that the element of surprise would shock them into being polite. He'd also have to have a talk with Alfred about appropriate behaviour just in case. They weren't really in a relationship—an agreement, maybe, but not a relationship. However, Alfred had a terrible case of inappropriate behaviour—the past few months of harassment being proof of that—and Arthur wasn't sure how kindly his brothers would take to finding out he was sleeping with an American from the district attorney's office. Not, Arthur thought, that things could really get much worse between him and his brothers.

When Arthur came back out again, Alfred was watching the British news on television and munching on a slice of pizza on the bed, still looking like he was half asleep. Arthur helped himself to a piece as well—a bit appalled that it didn't taste nearly as good as the pizza in New York, and feeling a bit traitorous for thinking that. Then, even though he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep at all, he nodded off on Alfred's shoulder to the drone of the television.

By the time Arthur woke up again, Alfred was back to his normal, energetic self, and dressed shockingly nice. Wearing a well-fitted suit, an ironed white shirt, and an appropriate blue tie for once, Alfred looked every inch the successful attorney he was as he slicked his hair back with a comb.

"You look nice today," Arthur said as he reached for his toothbrush, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It made him want to tear all of Alfred's clothes off again at the same time as Arthur felt woefully unattractive next to him.

Alfred grinned and winked at Arthur's reflection. "Gotta make a good impression on your folks," he said.

That woke Arthur up a little more. "This is _not_ a meet the family type of meeting, Jones. We aren't even—oh nevermind," he said. At any rate, Alfred wouldn't embarrass him and that was the important thing. Who knew when Arthur could get him to wear a normal looking tie again—he had to take advantage of it when Alfred was willing to cooperate.

"Alfred, you don't have to come with me, you know," Arthur said as he tried to tame his own hair.

"You don't want me to come?" Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not…it's not that," Arthur said and took a deep breath. "I just… I should probably sort things out with my brothers…personally." It hadn't been a clean break when Arthur left the UK. In fact, they had had a giant row over the whole thing when they presented Arthur with his resignation letter. It had ended with Arthur telling them all to fuck themselves and that he'd never come back. If it _did_ end in a row again, Arthur didn't exactly what Alfred around to see that. He also wanted at least one unknown person around in case his brothers refused to hand the files over and they really did have to break in to steal them.

To Arthur's surprise, Alfred didn't put up a big fuss. "All right then. It's what time now?" he asked.

Arthur glanced at his watch. "About four thirty," he said.

"Where do you want to go for dinner?" Alfred asked.

"Anywhere." Arthur shrugged, beginning to feel nervous again.

"Okay, how about Mayfair or Soho, then?" Alfred said. "Things there will be open later there if your meeting goes late. I'll find us a restaurant. Call me when you're done."

Arthur nodded and then headed out.

Although it had been years since he'd seen London, Arthur couldn't take anything in due to nervousness. He kept debating whether he should call his brothers and let them know he was coming, but he couldn't think of anything to say, and all too soon, he found himself at the Tower Hamlets in one of the business districts of London. It had been so long since he had been here, surrounded by the wharfs and towering buildings—each rented by various businesses. The Kirkland law firm had two entire floors of a giant glass-plated building and Arthur smoothed his hair down one more time before he got out of the cab.

He straightened up his suit as he looked up at the building, glinting dully in the cloudy late afternoon. People came in and out of the building, still busy at this time of day, and no one gave Arthur a second glance. He was Arthur fucking Kirkland, he told himself. He could do this.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked in.

Although he had once had a security pass, Arthur had to stop at the security desk now and have them phone up to the Kirkland law firm. By the time he was let up, he was jittery with nervous energy. His brothers knew he was here now.

By the time the elevator reached the eighth floor, Arthur felt like he might throw up.

Still, no matter what kind of a reaction he expected from his brothers, it wasn't a full on confrontation because that's what he got. When the elevator doors opened, Arthur almost jumped back when the first thing he saw was his three brothers, standing directly in front of the elevator, staring him.

"Good day," Arthur said.

His brothers stared back at him. They all looked slightly older and slightly more stressed than the last time Arthur had seen them. William was skinnier, Rhys a bit fatter, and Conor just looked tired and more freckled than usual.

"Aren't…aren't you going to say anything?" Arthur asked after a long, silent minute.

The elevator door began to close and Arthur and William moved at the same time, shoving it back open.

"Arthur, you're back?" Rhys said.

"I—I…yes," Arthur said. "Just for business," he added quickly. "Something's come up and I…I need the old Henry VIII case files—"

Conor groaned. "Let it go, will you?" he said. "It's been three fucking years, mate."

"Now just wait a moment," William said, holding up his hand. As the oldest of the four brothers, they had all grown up listening to him. Although Arthur had been youngest, the black sheep of the family, and therefore never very good with authority, the other two tended to defer to William. "If it dragged the disgrace back to London, we've got to know why," he said. "It could affect our business."

Not exactly the most reassuring words, but at least Arthur knew they wouldn't stop him now.

"Conference room then," Rhys said.

Arthur could feel the eyes on him as the four of them retired to the conference room to talk. He recognized some of the old associates, but many of the faces were entirely new. He did his best to ignored the hushed whispering as they walked past.

"Talk," Conor said as soon as the door closed behind them.

Arthur made a point to sit down because even though he was so full of nervous energy, he'd rather stand than sit, he wasn't going to let that _show_. Then he told them everything he knew. It took a good half hour just to explain all the things that had happened, and another hour to finish answering all the questions the other three had. By the time everything had been laid out, almost two hours had passed, and Conor had shouted at three assistants to leave them alone and stop trying to bring them coffee.

"Of course you would get involved with Braginsky, you idiot," William said, leaning back in his chair and massaging his forehead.

"The point," Arthur said. "Is that I need to look at all the files again. We need to compare what they have to what we have, figure out what Braginsky knows and…I don't know, if it had something to do with the case back then, maybe we could—"

"Oh we are not appealing," Rhys said. "Half of what you've done so far is completely illegal to begin with, and you've managed to turn it into an international disaster."

"I was just saying that it's a possibility," Arthur snapped. "I'll keep it as far away from you as I can. I'm not asking for help. I'm only asking for the files."

William took a deep breath and then exhaled. "Fine. You can have them. Conor can help—"

"What? But—"

William gave Conor a hard look. "Do _you_ trust the midget not to bollocks things up? Keep an eye on him. You're the one who doesn't have an urgent case at the moment."

Conor gave an exaggerated sigh and glared at Arthur.

"This isn't any more pleasant for me," Arthur said.

"Whatever. Let's just go get started," Conor said.

"Tomorrow," Arthur said a little too quickly and blushed when the other three brothers turned to stare at him. "I uh, I have dinner arrangements."

"With who? Didn't you just get here?" Rhys asked.

"Uh… the—the American lawyer I was telling you about who's agreed to help… he um, he sort of came along," Arthur admitted.

William let out a long groan. "You brought him? I thought this was supposed to be a fucking secret! With both of you out of America, Braginsky is going to know something is up."

"It's not my fault," Arthur snapped. "He insisted on coming."

William rolled his eyes. "Your funeral," he said. "Literally if Braginsky finds out." He stood up. "Fine then, help him tomorrow, Conor," he said. "And don't you go looking into anything else here," he added, pinning Arthur with a stare. "You aren't a part of this firm anymore."

"I know that!" Arthur said and pushed past William to walk out first. "I'll be here tomorrow morning," he said and walked to the elevator as naturally as he could.

It wasn't until he got back out of the building that he breathed a sigh of relief. His neck hurt from being so tense in there, and since he didn't want to stay near the building for any longer than he had to, he went for the nearest subway entrance instead of calling a taxi. He called Alfred once he had loaded his old Oyster card.

"I'll meet you at the Green Park tube entrance," Alfred said. "I found a place I think you'll like."

"All right, I'll see you in a bit," Arthur said.

He was exhausted and really just wanted to go back to their hotel and turn in early, but Alfred sounded so excited to be in London that Arthur didn't want to ruin it for him. Arthur wondered, as he got on the Jubilee Line, when exactly he started caring about Alfred's happiness. Just a couple of weeks ago, Alfred was an extremely irritating rival and occasional good shag. Now he had accompanied Arthur to London and they were going to dinner. Arthur was too tired to want to think much about it, though, so he simply watched the stops as they went by, people getting on and off, and twenty minutes later, he was at Green Park Station.

True to his word, Alfred was waiting just inside the station and still looking unusually sharp in his coat and scarf and slicked back hair. In fact, Arthur thought, suddenly quite a bit more awake, Alfred was attracting more than just a few appreciative looks, and Arthur wasn't sure that he liked it.

Alfred was speaking to someone on his mobile and didn't seem to notice until Arthur got near.

"No, I can't meet, I'm not—look, Natalya, I—"

"Alfred?" Arthur said, eyes narrowing when he heard the name.

"My client just got here. I'll call you back," Alfred said and hung up to beam at Arthur. "How was the meeting?"

"Who were you just talking to?" Arthur demanded. "Natalya Braginsky?"

"Yeah," Alfred said. "She called—she was missing those files you took," he said. "She thought it was me since Ivan told her I'd been there."

"Did she tell him?" Arthur asked.

"No, she just wanted them back," Alfred said and shrugged. "I told her I couldn't meet her to get them back yet."

"That was it?" Arthur asked.

"That was it," Alfred said.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why does she have your mobile number?"

Alfred stared at him for a moment and began to grin. "Are you jealous?"

"That's your personal phone," Arthur said. "Are you in the habit of giving out your personal number to clients?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "The Cuba trip wasn't exactly legal," he said. "I couldn't exactly bring my business phone along so I told her my personal number." He grinned at Arthur more widely. "Don't worry, I gave you my personal number too."

"I'm not jealous!" Arthur snapped, but he was aware his face had turned very red. After all, as crazy as she was, Natalya was a very beautiful woman and she _had_ invited Alfred to that resort in Cuba, and she had his personal number. Maybe he was a little bit jealous and completely justified.

Alfred burst out laughing and then pulled Arthur into a hug. "Don't worry, babe, I'm not taking anyone out on dates except you," he said and kissed Arthur on the cheek.

"We're in public!" Arthur said, scandalized. "And we haven't been on any dates, you twat!"

"I'm taking you out now," Alfred said, grinning at him, and still pressed just as close as he started guiding Arthur up the steps. "Anyway, there's only one ass I'm interested in fucking, and that's—"

"Alfred F. Jones," Arthur said, face burning. "If you don't shut up right now—"

Alfred laughed and gave Arthur's arse a quick squeeze before grabbing Arthur's hand so he couldn't punch him. "Come on, some guys recommended this place for us. Have you ever been to The Guinea Grill?"

The Guinea Grill was expensive, popular, and tiny like most English pubs ought to be. It was also heavily populated with businessmen of all sorts, and Alfred and Arthur blended in as soon as they walked in. They were shown to a small booth in a corner, cosy and dimly lit, and Arthur suddenly felt very at home. It had been years since he'd been to an English pub and heard so many British accents around him. He hadn't even realized how much he missed this until now.

As they ordered and ate, Arthur told Alfred about what had happened at the office and how his brothers had agreed to let him come back the next day.

"I'll come with you," Alfred said through a mouthful of steak & kidney pie. "I have nothing better to do."

"Swallow before you speak," Arthur said and shoved a napkin at him. "I don't know if my brothers will like that."

"With me, it'll go faster," Alfred said. "Anyway, it can't hurt to try."

Arthur sighed but Alfred did have a point, and as much as he didn't like admitting it, it would be nice having Alfred's support there. "Fine," he said.

Alfred grinned and ordered another round.

After that unexpectedly manly dinner, they spent the rest of the night walking around London. While most of the stores shut down by this time of night, the clubs were still open and the streets were still busy, and all Alfred seemed to want to do was to walk around and take in the view. They strolled along Green Park and Arthur found himself telling Alfred all about his childhood here.

"It wasn't _bad_—I was just the youngest," Arthur said.

"And you're the competitive type," Alfred said.

"I am not," Arthur said, even though they both knew that was a lie. "Anyway, there was a lot of squabbling when we were young, and we were all expected to enter the firm, of course. It's been the family business for ages now—I think Rhys wanted to be a painter for awhile, but Father had a stern talk with him…and well, we all ended up in the business." He shrugged.

"So you grew up in London?" Alfred asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yes…this is home," he said. It had been hard leaving here, though at the time, Arthur had had a lot worse things he'd been worried and angry about. "But America, well, I really did get to start over there," he said and smiled. "Pulled myself up by the bootstraps or whatever it is you yanks say."

"It's the land of opportunity," Alfred said, grinning, and grabbed Arthur's hand, threading their fingers together without warning.

"Alfred," Arthur hissed.

"What? There's hardly anyone here and no one's going to care," Alfred said.

It was true. Aside from a random jogger and commuter heading home, there weren't many people left in the park, and no one gave them a second glance. He wondered, briefly, what life might have been like if the Henry VIII case had never happened. What might have happened if he'd won. At this age, he would have made partner in the Kirkland firm by now. He would still be working with his brothers in the family business. He would be successful, have a great reputation, maybe a beautiful fiancée befitting of his status. But he would still be living in the shadow of his family. He would never have had the chance to make it on his own. He would have never met Alfred.

"Your hands are freezing, by the way," Alfred said.

"It _is_ winter," Arthur pointed out.

"Well, want to go to another bar or head back to the hotel?" he asked.

While Arthur knew the smart thing would be to go back since they'd have an early morning the next day, his mind still felt too jumbled and it _had_ been a long time since he was here. Arthur smiled. "How about a club?" he said.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "On a week night?" he asked. "Wearing your business suit?"

Arthur grinned and looked up at Alfred through his eyelashes, purposefully tilting his head to put on his best coy look. "You have no idea, Mr. Jones," he said and laughed when he heard Alfred audibly swallow.

"Damn, Arthur," Alfred said, sounding rather out of breath. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Arthur leaned a little closer and groped Alfred, eliciting a hiss. Then he let go and took a few steps down the path. "Are you coming or not?"

Alfred rolled his shoulders and caught up to him. "Lead on, babe. Lead on."

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Arthur was drunk, warm, and he had no idea where most his clothes had gone. He had already taken at least one questionable pill, possibly two, and he had never felt happier in his life as he ground up against Alfred to dubstep so loud he could feel it through his shoes.<p>

"Arthur, where did your shirt go now?" Alfred was saying even as Arthur tried to loosen his belt enough to get a hand inside. "Seriously, every time I turn around, you lose another piece of clothing."

"You're such a baby," Arthur muttered, giving up on the belt. Who knew belts were so complicated when you were drunk. "Have you never been to a real party?"

"Arthur, no," Alfred said, ignoring him and pushing an offered drink away. "He's already drunk enough," he said to the girl who had offered it.

She rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes and began dancing with another boy.

"I think it's time to go back," Alfred said.

Alfred had also lost his coat and scarf, and Arthur pulled him in by his nice tie, now loose, for a long, satisfying kiss that tasted like the alcohol they had both been drinking. When Alfred pushed him back, his lips were swollen and wet, and Arthur yanked him back and kissed him again. He could feel Alfred's hand slide into Arthur's loosened trousers, and he shivered when he felt one finger brush up against his arsehole, involuntarily rutting against Alfred.

"Mm, Alfred," Arthur murmured, head pillowed against Alfred's shoulder to balance himself as he sucked a hickey to his throat.

And then, abruptly, the hand was gone and Arthur was being pushed back.

"We are going home," Alfred said, his face flushed and eyes too bright even in the flashing lights of the club. "Now."

Before Arthur could protest, he was being shoved back into his shirt and it was being buttoned up in spite of his protests.

"Where the fuck did your coat go?" Alfred asked. Arthur had no idea, but Alfred apparently found his own coat, wrapping it around Arthur's shoulders before he shoved him outside and dialled a taxi, ignoring all of Arthur's attempts to snog while they waited.

"I am not going to fuck you in the alley," Alfred said.

"Why not?" Arthur wasn't pouting yet, but he would soon if Alfred didn't start looking at him stop looking at his mobile and cursing the taxi service.

Alfred just shot him a look of disbelief. "And to think a couple weeks ago you wouldn't even let me hold your hand in public."

Arthur did pout this time, pushing his face up against Alfred's shoulder. When Alfred continued to ignore him, he sighed and just leaned against him which felt nice too—especially when he was still wrapped in Alfred's warm coat, and Alfred's arm came to circle around his shoulders. Arthur felt warm and relaxed, and by the time the taxi came, he was asleep.

* * *

><p>Arthur jolted awake the next day when his mobile rang loud and shrill.<p>

"Shit! Fuck! Bollocks! Shit!" Arthur cursed, tripping over his shoes and knocking into the small table as he grabbed his mobile.

"Arthur, where are you, you little shit?"

It was Conor.

"I'm—I'm on my way. Stuck in traffic," Arthur lied as he tried to put on a pair of trousers with one hand. "Be there soon."

He hung up before Conor could protest and then shoved Alfred out of bed.

"What's going on?" Alfred asked, hair sticking up in all directions, his shirt buttoned all wrong, and generally looking every inch like he'd been out partying all night—which they had.

"We're late! Conor is going to _kill _me!" Arthur said, throwing one of Alfred's shirts at him and hurriedly putting on one himself. "You have five minutes to get ready, or you're not coming," he said.

Alfred got up.

After dressing in record time, they were on a taxi and heading toward the firm. Arthur hadn't had time to do anything about his hair, and Alfred looked rather more rumpled than he had the day before, but at this point, if they got there, Arthur would be satisfied.

Conor already had a pile of files out on the desk of what looked like a glorified storage closet, and he scowled when Arthur finally walked in.

"Who is that?" he asked, looking at Alfred.

"This is the American lawyer I was telling you about yesterday," Arthur said.

"Alfred F. Jones," Alfred said, sticking his hand out and shaking Conor's far too enthusiastically.

Conor snatched his hand back and eyed him. "He's not a part of this firm," he said.

"He's a part of the investigation," Arthur said. "And it'll go faster if Alfred is here helping."

Conor didn't look happy but he nodded. "Fine. Have it your way," he said, and then squinted harder at Alfred. "Have we met before?"

Alfred shrugged. "Maybe…I've been to the UK a couple times," he said.

Conor seemed to shake it off and gestured to the piles of files. "Have at it," he said.

"What are we looking for?" Alfred asked as he settled down into one of the chairs. There were only four folding chairs in the room set around one narrow desk, and the walls were lined with file cabinets. Harsh fluorescent lights shone down on them, and there were no windows at all. It seemed that Arthur had been shunted into a claustrophobic storage closet for his job.

"Anything related to Braginsky, or that Braginsky might be interested in," Arthur said. "You can start reading up about the case first." He gave Alfred a write-up that someone had did on the case and Alfred tilted his chair back to read, propping his feet up on the table to Conor's look of disgust.

For the next several hours, they read. The more Arthur read, the more came back to him—the interviews, the briefings, the research. The problem was that there really wasn't much tying any of this to Ivan Braginsky. Apart from a few mentions of some sort of business Henry VIII had had with the Russians, there was no mention of what the business was, who the Russians were, or anything that might tie Braginsky with the case. At the time, Arthur hadn't thought to question his "Winter" informant more since it just hadn't seemed important—the Russians just wanted Henry VIII free and who they were was irrelevant. Nothing else in any of Henry VIII's interviews had revealed anything about the Russians either.

Around lunchtime, Conor got up. "I have a lunch meeting with a client. I'll be back in an hour or two," he said. "You two can stay or leave."

"Lunch break?" Alfred perked up.

"I want to finish looking over this file and then we can go for lunch," Arthur said.

"I'm hungry, though," Alfred said. "We didn't get any breakfast before we came."

"Alfred, I'm almost done." Arthur shot him a warning look. Of all times for Alfred to act like a child, in front of Arthur's brother was not one of those times.

"Whatever, I'm leaving," Conor said. "Figure it out yourselves." He shut the door behind them, leaving them alone.

"Arthur," Alfred said.

Arthur ignored him, resolutely turning back to his file.

He managed to read two sentences before Alfred let out an exaggerated sigh, and started tapping his foot against the table, making it shake so Arthur couldn't read.

"If you want to leave first, feel free," Arthur said.

"But—"

"I am going to finish reading this," Arthur said and then refused to look back up at him.

This time, when Alfred tried shaking the table or blowing out air through his nose, Arthur ignored him, and the more noise Alfred made, the less attention Arthur gave him. Arthur wasn't sure how long he had been reading the same sentence before Alfred finally gave up and slumped back in his chair.

"I'm nearly done, Alfred," he said. "Behave."

Instead of behaving, though, Alfred leaned over to drape himself on Arthur's shoulders, propping his head up next to Arthur's to read his file. "What are you even reading?" Alfred asked. Unlike his previous whinging, his voice was low and husky, and it sent a shiver down Arthur's spine.

"One of Henry VIII's interviews," Arthur said. "Get off me."

Alfred didn't budge, but pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Arthur's ear instead.

"_Alfred_," Arthur said, blushing again as he darted a kiss to the door. "Get off me. I'm almost done reading and then we can—" He lost his train of thought when Alfred began mouthing down his jawline at the same time as he felt a hand slide along his waist to his belt buckle.

Arthur caught his hand just before Alfred could until it. "I mean it, Alfred, my brothers could walk in at any moment and I am _not_ going to—"

"Oh please, Conor said it would take him at least another hour to get back. We have time," Alfred said.

"Alfred, we are _not_ going to fuck in my brothers' office!" Arthur said and gasped when Alfred pressed another kiss to his throat. "I—I—"

"We do it at _your_ offices all the time," Alfred said, cupping Arthur through his trousers and tracing down.

"I live at my bloody office!" Arthur said.

"We've done it downstairs too," Alfred said and this time kissed Arthur full on the mouth.

Arthur was turned on enough to let him draw on the kiss for far longer than he really ought to, and when Alfred pulled back, Arthur almost forgot why this was a supremely bad idea.

"Al—"

Alfred kissed him again, and even knowing it was a bad idea, Arthur's body traitorously told him that it was really just one kiss. Just one short kiss…

He wasn't even sure when exactly Alfred's hand had snuck into his unzipped trousers, or exactly how he had gone from business to too hard to even think straight as Alfred pumped his cock tortuously slow.

"Alfred, we _can't_," Arthur managed to say before his voice hitched again and he found his hips moving to Alfred's rhythm.

"We haven't fucked at all since we got here," Alfred said.

Arthur was beginning to realize that very clearly as Alfred touched him. "Someone will come in," he said even as he fought the urge to open his legs. It took all his willpower to push Alfred away, and Arthur was quite proud of himself as he struggled to zip up his trousers over his aching erection. "A-And anyway, this is work. Concentrate!"

He had just managed to button up his trousers when suddenly, Alfred shoved the pile of papers to one end of the table, grabbed Arthur by the arm and shoved him up against the table with such force that Arthur made a completely involuntary squeak and his cock actually hurt from being so hard. He'd always had a thing for forceful men.

"Alfred—"

Arthur's protest was cut off again when Alfred yanked both his trousers and briefs down to his knees, effectively trapping Arthur's legs and exposing his arse all at once. He could feel Alfred's warm hand cup his arse, giving it a squeeze, and then move down to his arsehole.

"Someone will come," Arthur tried to say, but it ended in a loud moan when he felt something wet and warm circle his entrance that was definitely not a finger. "Al—Alfred—" His hips jolted in spite of himself. "You can't—"

Then Alfred stuck his tongue in and Arthur lost his mind. For the next couple of seconds or maybe years, all he could feel was Alfred's tongue in him, licking a slow circle inside him. His knees trembled and he was sure he would have collapsed if Alfred's hands hadn't been holding his hips in place against the desk.

"Al—"

Arthur's protest cut off in another shaky moan when Alfred's tongue went in again. His cock twitched and he tried to move and get Alfred to fuck in him in earnest.

"Shh, be quiet, babe," Alfred said and Arthur could feel the warm puff of his breath against his arse. "Your brothers might hear."

That sent another jolt of electricity through his body straight to his cock and Arthur tried to move again.

"We can't…"

Arthur lost his train of thought when Alfred sucked this time, and really did collapse completely on the table this time, scrabbling to hold on to anything and spilling papers all over the floor. His heart was racing as he glanced at the door, praying that no one had heard—only to moan again when Alfred's tongue began to fuck him for real this time, pushing in and out—much more slowly than Alfred's usual, frantic rhythm—and so much the worse for it because Arthur just couldn't get off.

He twisted in Alfred's grasp, trying to get more of anything. But Alfred, the eternal arsehole, would not speed it up. He took his time tracing Arthur's entrance with his tongue like he was trying to memorize it. Arthur's hips jerked again, knocking against the table so hard it hurt as he let out a string of curses trying to get Alfred to stop his torture.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Is everything okay?" It was a female voice that Arthur didn't recognize.

"F-Fine," Arthur said.

Alfred's tongue dove in deeper, sending another wave of pleasure through his body.

"Mr. Arthur?" the woman said.

"Fine, everything's f-fi-ah—" Arthur bit down on his own arm to keep from screaming, eyes wide as he stared at the door, but utterly unable to move with Alfred's hands at his hips, his trousers tangled around his knees, arse in the air—and if that woman came in now—

"Mr. Arthur—"

Arthur saw the doorknob turn.

"No!"

Alfred's tongue shoved back into him.

And without even touching his own cock, Arthur came so hard he saw stars, and collapsed trembling on the desk, just as he heard a loud thump. Through the post-coital haze, he saw that Alfred had stuck on his foot to keep the door from opening.

"Sorry, we have a couple boxes of stuff blocking the door," Alfred said sounding entirely too cheerful as he straightened up. "Hold on a minute."

"Mr. William! Mr. Rhys! I think there's something—in the storage room," Arthur heard the woman's voice trail away.

He had gathered enough of his mind to panic now as he straightened up and pulled his trousers back up. He was just in time.

The door burst open just as Arthur was tucking in his shirt and Rhys stuck his head in along with a worried looking young woman.

"Is everything okay in here?" he asked.

"Great!" Alfred said as though he hadn't just had Arthur sprawled on the table less than a minute ago. "I was stretching and knocked over some stuff. Sorry about that," he said.

Rhys raised an eyebrow but shut the door again.

Alfred started laughing as soon as he left.

"That was not funny," Arthur snapped. "He almost caught us!"

"Yea but he didn't," Alfred said, bending to gather up the spilled papers. "Anyway, that's revenge."

"For fucking what?" Arthur demanded.

"Yesterday at the club." Alfred grinned. "So you still want to have semi-public sex? Hey, this is still more private than the club."

Arthur flipped him off.

Then Alfred held up the papers he'd just collected off the floor. "And guess what?" he said.

Arthur let out a low groan. He had come all over the papers too.

Alfred grinned. "I'll go get some tissues."

* * *

><p>By mid-afternoon, they had read all the pertinent files and still gotten no closer to finding a solid connection.<p>

"Let's go to Henry VIII's house," Alfred suggested. "Maybe we'll find something there."

"It's been over three years," Arthur said. He still couldn't look at Alfred after what had happened and he just hoped that the whole room didn't smell like sex and that Conor wouldn't find out that Alfred had eaten him out on the table.

"It's been sold again," Conor said. "You won't find anything there."

"Police files?" Alfred asked.

"We have all the copies right here," Conor said, gesturing to the pile.

"And Winter? Do we really not have a way of contacting him?" Arthur asked. At this point, it looked like the only way they would be able to draw a connection was to either ask Ivan Braginsky, or to find that informant, Winter, from all those years ago.

Conor raised an eyebrow. "You were the one in contact with him. If you don't know, how do you expect the rest of us? You were the idiot who didn't want anyone to touch your case."

"Because you would always try to steal all the credit for them," Arthur said.

Conor rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever. It's your fault now if you can't remember how to contact him."

Then Arthur remembered. "My office," he said. "What happened to all the things from my personal office?"

"We got rid of them after you left," Conor said.

"Everything?" Arthur asked.

Conor frowned. "Most of it…we might have a box somewhere," he said. He opened the door and led the way down to William's office.

William looked up when Conor knocked and walked in. "Did you find what you need?" he asked.

"A few things—do you still have that box of the brat's things when he left?" Conor asked. "He says there's something in there he needs."

"Bottom drawer to the left," William said, gesturing to a giant mahogany cabinet to one side of his corner office.

Conor retrieved a small, sad-looking cardboard box and stuck it on one of William's nice desks.

Arthur opened it and was surprised to find a lot more crammed in there than he had expected—everything from the small unicorn figurine he'd used to keep on his desk for luck, to a stack of empty folders, to about 50 separate sticky notes. "Can I take these with me to look through?" he asked.

William shrugged. "They're yours."

"Thanks," Arthur said, picking up the box.

William stood up as they all headed to the door. "Arthur," he said. "Come and visit us again sometime."

Arthur's eyes widened as he stared at his oldest brother. "I-I—of course," he said. "You as well, if you're ever in New York…"

William coughed and then stuck his hand out.

Arthur took it and they shook. "I guess we…we better get going," he said, quickly withdrawing his hand again. "We'll be in touch."

William nodded and Arthur all but fled to the elevator, carrying his box of things and Alfred trailing behind him.

He didn't even realize he was crying until they walked into the elevator and Alfred tugged the box out of his hands and pulled him into a hug. Arthur held onto Alfred, for once not caring that he was sobbing in front of Alfred and into his nice coat for everything—his past in England, all those years he'd been alone, and the family he had just found again.

"It's okay," Alfred said, running his hands through Arthur's hair as he held him tight. "We'll come back. Next time we'll ask your brothers to come to dinner with us. It'll be great, okay?"

Arthur nodded, probably getting snot and tears everywhere, and looked up to smile at him. "Yes," he said. "Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry I accidentally removed this chapter... uh...so there is NO NEW UPDATE this is just a reuploaded ch7!<strong>


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